


You Play Ball Like a Girl

by WelpThisIsHappening



Series: You Play Ball Like a Girl [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 253,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan had a plan. Get the story. Get the byline. Up her Twitter follower count. It was simple – she was going to take over the New York City journalism world. And she was going to do it from the sideline with a credential around her neck and a pen stuffed in her hair and a fierce determination no one was going to be able to put a dent in. </p><p>It was the perfect plan. </p><p>That plan just failed to factor in Killian Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma Swan doesn’t get intimidated.

She gets even.

No, wait, that wasn't not right.

Emma Swan doesn’t get intimidated – she gets the scoop. Oh, God, that sounded even worse.

Emma was going to have to get better at these inner-monologue pep talks if this was a thing she was going to start doing.

Although to be fair, if everything went right here there would be no need for anymore inner-monologue pep talks. She’d have the job, she’d have the byline and she’d be set for life. At least that was the plan.

But instead of executing that very well thought-out plan, Emma found herself rooted to the sidewalk, staring straight up at a building made entirely out of windows. Well, there were probably a few metal beams involved as well. At least Emma hoped there were – she’d hate to die before she even got to the right floor for her interview.

Interview.

It was, as they say, all happening.

Emma Swan had an interview. Fucking finally. She just couldn’t bring herself to walk into the building.

People were starting to bump into her. A few angry glances were sent her way and Emma found herself rattling off a snark-filled “ _watch it_ ,” to one very frustrated pedestrian who nearly made her drop her bag. She’d have to get rid of the attitude before she met with Michael for her – _dear God_ – interview.

Ok, it was time to do this. No more stalling. No more inner-monologue pep talks. It was time to wow _The New York Record_.

Emma yanked open one of the doors in front of her and walked across the lobby, squinting slightly at all the sunlight streaming in through the ridiculous number of windows. She took a few steps in, walking up to the security desk and the man sitting behind it who, at first glance, appeared to have a permanent scowl on his face.

“Can I help you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma replied, hoping the annoyance wouldn’t be blatantly obvious in her voice. “My name is Emma Swan. I have an interview with Michael Seahorn in the sports department at one o’clock.”

Leroy – Emma saw his name on the ID badge hanging around his neck, take that investigative journalists – looked at the computer in front of him and started clicking buttons before nodding slightly when he found whatever it was he was looking for.

“Aren’t you a little young to be interviewing for such an important job?” he asked.

Emma’s eyes widened before she even realized and she felt the anger rising in her system automatically. There was that defensive instinct again.

“Excuse me?” she asked, lowering her own eyebrows and clutching her bag – chock full of every column she had ever written – just a bit tighter.

“You just look kind of young is all,” he continued, completely unperturbed.

“I guess appearances can be deceiving,” Emma responded.

Ok, so he wasn’t exactly wrong. Emma was young. Or at least young by journalism standards. By sports journalism standards she was practically an infant.

Emma was 28, but she had plenty of experience. The eight years of bylines still clutched in her hands were proof of that and if she included college – she definitely included college – she had more than a decade in the sports world under her belt.

Emma had spent the better part of her life working her way up the metaphorical ladder, carving out a spot for herself in a sports world that wasn’t all that receptive to 20-something girls wearing dresses. She didn’t care. This was what Emma was good at. It always had been. So she pushed her way into locker rooms and called sources until it kind of felt like she was stalking them. She won awards. She never missed a deadline in her life.

And now, if she ever actually made it to her interview, Emma was going to take on the daily newspaper world of New York City.

She’d seen the ad weeks ago and knew this was it. Her heart had caught in her throat when she clicked on the job description – a staff job at _The New York Record_ covering anything and everything with a byline that several _million_ people would see. That job didn’t just happen. That job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Emma had a handful of pre-interviews as _The Record_ liked to call them, but this was a one-on-one meeting with sports editor Michael Seahorn. She was only kind of intimidated.

“Well, you look like you know what you’re doing,” Leroy said. “You seem to be clutching that bag awfully tight.”

The phone rang, distracting the guard for a moment and Emma took the chance to loosen her grip. Her knuckles were white. Deep breaths, she thought. She had survived everything else her life had thrown at her so far, what was one interview?

Potentially life-changing.

“Hello?” Leroy asked into the receiver. “Oh yes, sir, Swan?” Her head jerked up at the mention of her name and Emma raised her eyebrows. Leroy paid absolutely no attention to her, his entire focus directed on the phone call.

“Yes sir, she’s right here actually, just came in,” he continued. “I’ll tell her right now. Yes, thank you.”

Leroy hung up the phone, carefully placing it back in the lock and looked up at Emma.

“You can go on up to meet Mr. Seahorn now. Let me just get your name again so I can put it on the ID and everything’ll be great.”

“Emma Swan. You know...like a swan?”

Emma cringed, but Leroy just laughed a bit. “Yeah, I think I can spell that,” he said, typing on his computer once again before the tell-tale signs of the printer booting up filled the quiet lobby. He handed Emma the visitor ID and she ripped the adhesive off the back, pushing it lightly onto her shirt.

“Ok, so to get up to Mr. Seahorn’s office, you’re gonna walk through these gates and take the first elevator on the left up to the twelfth floor,” Leroy instructed. “That’s the sports department. There’ll be another receptionist there, name’s Lisa. Tell her you’ve got an appointment and she’ll let Mr. Seahorn know you’re waiting and he’ll let you in.”

“Great,” Emma said slowly, trying to keep her breathing rate at a functional human level.

“Good luck sweetheart, I’m sure it’s gonna go fine.”

Emma smiled weakly, nodding and walked through the gates, only to take a right towards the wrong bank of elevators.

“Left!” Leroy yelled from his seat behind the desk.

Emma grimaced, not able to actually turn around and face him or the embarrassment that had seemingly taken control of her whole body. She took a moment and another deep breath – keep breathing – before turning around and walking towards the other bank of elevators.

She hit the button, rocking back and for on her heels as the doors opened in front of her.

Emma glanced up above the doors when she heard the ding that signaled her arrival on the twelfth floor. One final deep breath and she walked out into the hallway, closing her eyes for just a moment as she tried to mentally prepare herself for the next few minutes of her life.

That had been her first mistake.

Emma was actually most surprised by how incredibly solid his body was. She did her best not to fall over, trying to find traction under her heels. That, naturally, was easier said than done and in the process of trying to remain vertical, Emma’s hold on her bag relaxed. Her clips were all over the hallway floor.

She heard him groan before she even saw his face. Later on, when Emma would think about this moment, that would be what she remembered – and loved – most about him. She could hear the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. He was trying not to laugh.

Emma, however, wasn’t laughing. She was trying to pick up her clips, shaking her head slightly as she worked get her bearings. Her hair had fallen across her face and she reached up to run a hand through it, shaking her head slightly and squeezing her eyes tight in both pain and annoyance.

He was quicker than her. By the time Emma had picked up the first sheet of paper, there were only a few left on the floor. He handed her the rest of them, holding them all in an already-neat pile. They were facing the same direction too.

Well, there was something to be said for efficiency.

Emma slowly reached her hand out, fingers brushing against his and took the stack, gently sliding them back into the folder and zipping her bag shut. She probably should have done that in the first place.

Then she, finally, looked up.

And it felt like one of those moments when you can hear the proverbial soundtrack playing in your head and the music is swelling and the audience knows, without a doubt, that something important is happening.

It felt like that.

He was taller than her. Dark hair, bordering on black, pushed up a little bit, but not in one of those obviously styled ways. It looked like he ran his hands through it a lot. Emma wondered if that meant he was stressed.

His clothes fit him nearly perfectly and the blazer he was wearing appeared to be custom cut. The tie he had on was barely two inches wide, but he seemed as if he really meant the whole look. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He just was him.

Emma blinked a few more times, not entirely sure how she had come to such a precise conclusion about a guy she only knew because she had plowed over him coming out of an elevator.

She managed to catch his eye and, once again, had to remind herself to take a deep breath.

Blue. God, so blue.

His eyes were wide after being run into, but he was staring right back at her with a slight smirk on his face. He was still trying not to laugh.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, pushing her hair behind her ear again.

“Do you normally plow people over when you walk out of elevators?” he asked. The smirk was a full-blown smile now. “Or am I just a special circumstance?” He certainly was some sort of circumstance.

Emma was slightly taken aback by their sudden foray into the realm of sarcasm. She was sarcastic – it was a defense mechanism of sorts – but she hadn’t been sure there were people out there who could use it as an opening line. If that’s even what this was.

“I think it’s probably just you,” she responded. “You should probably feel pretty honored actually.”

“Honored?”

“Well, you’ve obviously been chosen for some greater purpose and that’s why I ran into you. Or maybe, you know, you were just walking too slow and the elevator was going too fast and we ran into each other. Who knows? It could just be serendipity.”

“You mean like fate?” Emma could hear the skepticism in his voice already.

“Well maybe not as hokey as all that. It’s probably just some kind of coincidence and I really am sorry for running into you. All I’m saying though, is it’s completely possible that it was universally-ordained.”

“You just made that up,” he said.

If it wouldn’t have sounded so incredibly psychopathic and she hadn’t only just met him, Emma probably would have considered telling him he should smile all the time. She took a step back, trying to get some much-needed space between them.

There was something in his smile, in the way he was looking at her. Emma couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but she was going to be damned if she didn’t figure out what it was. After all, Emma Swan always got answers.

“You just made that up,” he repeated. “’Universally-ordained.’ That’s not a word. That’s not even a phrase. You made it up. I’ll give you that it does make sense, but it’s not a real thing.”

Ah, he was making fun of her. She didn’t know his name and he was making fun of her. Fantastic.

“You don’t know that for sure,” she argued.

Yes she did. She knew she made it up. She also knew she was freaking out. She had an interview to get to, but everything in her head was telling her to stay right there in front of the elevators and stage this quasi-argument. She’d blame the blue eyes.

“Oh trust me, I know,” he said.

“You seem very confident for a guy who just got run over while walking past an elevator.”

“I am,” he said simply.

“Explanation?”

He laughed softly and nodded. “Sure. I’m paid to know whether or not words are real. Trust me – editors don’t want a staff writer who can’t even tell the difference between something that’s in the dictionary and something that isn’t. So this is kind of par for the course for me.”

Emma felt her draw drop a bit before she could stop herself and she knew was blushing. This guy, this incredibly beautiful and, admittedly, a little obnoxious guy was a staff writer for _The New York Record._

Well, fuck.

God, they were never going to hire her now. She was going to go into her interview and three quarters of the way through, he would come barging in and tell this entire convoluted story and Emma would never get a job in the city again.

She should just go home and get that cardboard box ready now.

“You work here?” she asked quietly, hoping, maybe, to hide a bit of her shame in whispers.

He nodded, still smiling. He found this whole thing a little funny. That was kind of annoying. “Yeah, I work here,” he said.

“Jeez,” Emma mattered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“What was that?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Listen,” he continued, his voice still full of silent laughter. “I never even introduced myself. That was bad form. I’m sorry about that. I’m Killian Jones.”

Oh, God. It could not have gotten worse than that. Emma knew Killian Jones. Well, not _knew_ him, but knew of him. It was hard not to when you were a journalist in New York. The man was a genius, a 32-year-old upstart genius. He had a column. In _The New York Record_. When he was 29. That kind of thing doesn’t happen unless you’re the best in the entire world.

And he was.

Killian Jones knew everyone in New York sports from high school to college to the pros. He had played baseball at Louisville when he was in college – went pro after his junior season. Third selection overall and it hadn’t taken him long to leapfrog up the minor league ladder.

Then he got hurt.

Emma didn’t know the specifics – something about a car accident and a mangled left hand that ended his career before it had really even gotten started. You can’t hold a bat with only one hand.

That story had always made Emma sad.

And no she found herself standing – and arguing and, _God_ , fantasizing – in the same general space as Killian Jones.

There was no recovering from this. Emma was sure he knew who she was. He probably just had some sort of instinctual knowledge of what went on at this paper. God, people who were older than him answered to him. He ran this sports department.

Emma was certain her life was one giant joke.

Killian was holding his hand out in front of him, presumably waiting for her to shake it, the way normal people do when they meet one another. Emma was frozen. She couldn’t move.

He raised his eyebrows, obviously confused at her reaction. Maybe he didn’t realize he was as famous as he was. Or maybe he was just incredibly modest; that would be cute. “And you are?” he asked, prompting Emma’s answer.

“Oh,” she said, slightly taken aback. He smiled at Emma, moving his eyes down a little to meet her gaze. One side of his mouth was pulled back up into that now-familiar smirk and his eyebrows were practically halfway up his forehead. “Um, I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”

“Swan?”

“Yeah, you know, like the bird?”

“Thank you, I do know what a swan is. Just doesn’t seem like a very common last name.”

Emma shrugged. She may be attracted to Killian Jones, but she wasn’t ready to delve into the history of her last name quite yet. Or ever. Instead, she opted for more sarcasm.

“Are you interviewing me?” she asked.

Killian shook his head, making a face. “Not at all. I’m just trying to get to know you. If I’m going to be attacked in the hallway, I’d like to know who’s doing it.”

“I didn’t attack you!”

It always amazed Emma how quickly, even now, the defense went up. Maybe she should work on that. Although, she rationalized, she was a product of her circumstances and if she couldn’t keep the defenses down after 28 years, the chances of that ever changing were slim to none.

“It’s fine, honestly,” Killian said.

“I really am sorry.”  
  
“I just said it was fine, didn’t I?” he asked. Emma nodded. ““Then it’s fine. Anyway, what exactly are you doing walking out of elevators and running into people? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at _The Record_ before.”

“That’s because you haven’t. I’m here for an interview.”

“An interview?” It was as if he had never heard the term before.

“Yeah, at least that’s what they told me I was here for. Unless it’s just a clever rouse to kill me.”

“I doubt anyone here is that creative. What are you interviewing for?”

“Sports,” Emma replied quickly. “That new staffer position?”

His eyebrows rose up, well past his forehead, almost reaching his hair line. “Really? You write sports?”

“Is it that big of a surprise?”

“No, no,” he floundered.

Emma took a moment to appreciate the fact that, in some way, she had flustered Killian Jones. That in and of itself was a success.

“It’s just…you don’t…you don’t look like someone who would write for sports.” He stopped suddenly, ducking his eyes to stare at the floor

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“That’s how it was intended.”

“Well, then thanks.”

“Who are you supposed to be meeting for the interview?” he asked. Maybe he really was interviewing her. Or maybe the journalist in him just automatically asked questions out of habit. That was probably why he had a column

“Mr. Seahorn.”

“Michael?” Emma nodded and Killian pursed his lips like he was thinking. “Hmmm...well listen, he’s probably going to be a hardass about the questions. But don’t let that scare you away or anything.”

“I’m not scared,” Emma replied quickly, almost telling the truth.

Killian laughed, smiling at her. Deep breaths, Emma thought – again. “Well that’s good because Michael’s going to want to make you scared. He’s only doing it to try and weed out the people who can’t handle it. A daily paper in a city like New York is cutthroat, you know.”

“Listen, it’s not like I’m just some little girl straight off the farm,” she replied, voice cutting across the space between her and Killian. “I know what I’m doing. I can write. I was an editor for my college paper. I’ve won awards – lots of them. I understand sports. And I’m sure you’re standing there thinking that can’t possibly be true, but guess what – it is. And I want this more than anything. So if your editor is in there right now thinking up ways to freak me out, well, honestly, that’s just kind of mean.”

Emma let out a deep breath and narrowed her eyes as if to challenge him to come up with something better. He slowly put his hands in his pockets and rocked and forth on his heels for a few seconds.

“I kind of like you,” he said bluntly.

That took her down a few pegs. Emma hadn’t been expecting Killian Jones to tell her that only a few minutes after meeting her. Or ever, really.

“Excuse me?”

“I like you,” he said slowly as if he was talking to a crazy person.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got…I don’t know what the word is, spunk, I guess. I mean, that’s very Mary Tyler Moore, but that’s what I mean. I don’t even know anything about you and you’re fascinating. I’m intrigued.”

“You keep giving me all these back-handed compliments.”

“No, trust me, they’re front-handed compliments.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I thought you were paid to know what was and wasn’t a word or phrase or whatever.”

“Touché. See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You just completely called me out. No one ever does that to me.”

“That’s probably because they’re all intimidated by you.”

Emma bit her lip, realizing what she was saying after it was already too late. _Fuck_. She needed a filter. There was no need to share any all thoughts she had with him, but she found herself doing it anyway. It was easy.

Truth be told, Emma found him just as intriguing as he seemed to find her.

Killian shrugged. ““That may be true. It’s refreshing to meet someone who isn’t though.” He smirked at her again. It was somewhere straddling the line between cocky, obnoxious, and downright attractive.

“I’m glad I could have helped,” Emma said. “But I really should get in there.” She nodded towards the office a few feet away, trying to decide just about much she wanted to move from the spot she was already in.

“Yeah, of course,” Killian said, his eyes darting between me and the door. She could almost see the gears working in his head.

“Alright, well, I’m going to go then,” she said, watching his face intently and trying to understand the thought process that was apparently going on there. “It was nice to meet you.”

Emma held out her hand and he distractedly shook it.

She turned and walked into the office, leaving Killian Jones in her wake.

The office was big, considering it was only Mr. Seahorn’s. Emma slowly walked towards the secretary’s desk, trying to pace herself so I wouldn’t seem too anxious.

“Hi, I’m Emma Swan,” she said. “I’m here for an interview with…”

“Mr. Seahorn,” the secretary interrupted. “He’s ready for you right now, you can go in.”

“Thanks.”

Emma walked past the desk and into the small glass enclosure where she could see Michael Seahorn sitting reading this morning’s copy of _The Record_. She knocked softly on the wall and peered around the corner.

“Mr. Seahorn?”

He looked up at her, a piercing stare that almost made her recoil, folding the paper and placing it on the side of his desk. His suit looked expensive.

“Ah,” he said, a gruff voice that showed his years in the industry, sort of tired, but still an obvious presence. “You must be Emma, the writer. Come on in, sit down. I assume you have clips.”

“Yes,” Emma nodded, pulling the book out of her briefcase and handing it over to him. “There’s all my column clips from my most recent job and some of the stories that have won awards. There’s an entire series on social media and student athletes that was really well received by the AP and…”

“That was then,” Seahorn said, cutting me off. “What have you got to offer me now?”

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. Killian had been right. This man was nothing if not direct. Emma opened her mouth to answer, hoping she would be able to come up with some sort of forward-thinking response. Only the moment she was about to answer, another voice entered the room, walking directly into the office without bothering to knock.

“Hey Michael,” said Killian, casually addressing the sports editor of _The New York Record_ as if it was no big deal.

Emma turned around in her chair to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He was talking to Seahorn, but he was staring at her. Emma wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Ah, Killian, my boy! I didn’t expect to see you here so early. I was sure, given the game last night, you wouldn’t be in until 3:00 at the earliest.” Turned out Seahorn had a bit of a sense of humor. Who would have thought?

Killian shook his head. “No, I’d like to think I’m a little more respectable than that. Anyway, I only got here about a half an hour ago, so it wasn’t as if I was here when the doors opened.”

Seahorn laughed, like he was talking to his son. “So what can I do for you? Any ideas for Thursday’s column?”

“I’ve got a few,” Killian replied easily, “Nothing too concrete yet, but I think there’s a good idea in there somewhere.” Edwardson nodded knowingly. He seemed to have complete faith in this 32-year-old writer. Interesting.

“But now that you mention it, there is something you can do for me Michael,” Killian continued.

“Anything, of course.”

“I was walking in this morning and I had the wonderful opportunity to meet your interviewee,” he nudged his shoulder in her direction, “Emma Swan. And, well, we talked for awhile and I’ve got to tell you Michael, I’ve never met anyone with more gumption in my life. I’m telling you, if her clippings are any good, I’d make sure to get her right away before _The Writer_ does.”

 _The New York Writer_ was the major competitor for _The Record._  It was newspaper war between the two of them. Emma saw Mr. Seahorn’s ears pick up at the mention of his enemy and she glanced in Killian’s direction, wide-eyed and, suddenly, a little nauseous.

She hadn’t ever talked to anyone from _The Writer_. They hadn’t responded to any of her e-mails. Emma didn’t have anything in front of her but this interview and now Killian was going to fuck it all up for her.

“ _The Writer_?” Mr. Seahorn repeated. Killian only nodded seriously. Emma sat still – she couldn’t move.

“Yeah, Emma’s already told me that they’ve expressed interest in her writing for them as well. I think though, that we could use someone with the experience she has – especially if a beat opens up. What sport do you know best Emma?”

Emma jerked her head up at the mention of her name, surprised he was talking to her. “Um, basketball,” she said automatically.

“Right basketball,” Killian continued. “Think of it Michael; a new writer, a young writer, a _female_ writer, covering basketball. You’ll be the talk of the entire city. And that’ll get more readers. You’ll get a whole new dynamic in the market, something _The Writer_ certainly doesn’t have.”

Emma didn’t know who to look at – Mr. Seahorn to watch him contemplate her entire future or Killian Jones, pompous and gloating while he completely screwed with that same future. She settled on Killian, glaring pointedly in his direction.

He stared straight back at her, unflinching with a look that blatantly suggested, “What?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and slowly breathed out of her nose. She turned back to Mr. Seahorn to see him looking through her clips, intently reading one of them. Her heart beat accelerated and suddenly it was far too hot in this small office.

“You’ve been talking to _The Writer_ , Ms. Swan?” Mr. Seahorn asked me. God, what was she supposed to say to that?

Emma glanced towards Killian and saw him nod deftly, so quickly Seahorn couldn’t have possibly noticed. “Um, yes,” she lied. “They’ve talked to me several times about a staff position.”

Mr. Edwardson sighed and turned to look up at Killian. “This is quite a find you’ve got here,” he said, nodding towards Emma.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Well, Ms. Swan, why don’t you and I continue to talk and we’ll see if Killian was as right about you as he thinks he is.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Emma said, thankful that he wasn’t kicking me out of the office.

“Good man Michael,” Killian said quietly.

He turned back to Emma and met her gaze. She saw his hand flash to his pocket and back out so quickly, she barely could tell it had even happened. Those doubts were put to rest when Emma noticed there was a small card now laying in her lap. It was a business card – his business card to be exact.

The words were scrawled quickly, but neatly, pushed together so they would fit together without covering up the name and number.

 _Emma - Hope it worked. Meet me downstairs when you get out. I want to hear. Killian_.

“Don’t forget the meeting at 3:15,” Mr. Seahorn called after him as he turned to walk out of the office.

“Right, I’ll be there," Killian replied.

“He won’t be,” Seahorn muttered to himself. Emma smiled, trying to regain some of her composure.

“Alright,” Seahorn said to her. “Let’s see if Killian is just as self-important as he seems to think he is and can actually pick out a good journalist.”

Emma nodded nervously, finally starting the interview and praying to any religious figure who would listen that Killian Jones had not completely screwed it up for her.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma sat stone still waiting for Michael Seahorn, sports editor of one of the most influential newspapers in the New York area, to start talking again. He was staring at her. It was uncomfortable.

“Do you mind if I’m completely honest with you, Ms. Swan?” Seahorn asked her after a few more painful moments of silence.

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ve read a good majority of your columns and they’re very good.”

Emma felt herself breathing out a huge sigh of relief. She had been positive he was going to tell her to leave, that this interview was pointless and unnecessary.

This was a nice change of events.

“Oh,” Emma said, still a little shell-shocked. “Thank you.”

“Who did you meet with before you got sent up to me?” he asked.

“Um, Carl Harrison.”

“That’s what I figured,” he glanced down at the notes Emma just realized were sitting on the top of his desk. Oh God, those notes were totally about her. They had notes about her already.

That was intimidating.

“Carl spoke pretty highly of you,” he continued, still staring at the half a dozen or so sheets of paper. What could this man have possibly written about for six full pages? Emma tried to rationalize it – he was, after all, an assistant editor, but six pages? That seemed like overkill. Maybe there were other opinions in there too. People who had seen her work and wanted to document their response. Was that a good thing? 

“Did he?” Emma asked, feeling obligated to add something to the conversation.

“Yes. I trust Carl too; he’s a very good editor. He’s done a lot for that section, including finding Killian.”

Emma knew her eyes were widening before she could even do anything about stopping them. The longer she was in this office the more and more obvious it became how important Killian Jones was to its continued success.

That seemed like an awful lot responsibility for one person.

“Anyway, Ms. Swan, again, if I’m being honest, I have to tell you I’m a little nervous about hiring a female sportswriter.”

Emma actually had to force herself to remain in her seat. She couldn’t slap him. She couldn’t. She wasn’t cut out for cardboard box living and if she slapped Seahorn, that was about as good as her future was going to get.

“Excuse me?” she asked, trying to keep any semblance of attitude out of her voice.

“I’m not saying you aren’t very talented, you are. I hope you don’t think me some enormous chauvinistic pig, quite the contrary. Really, this is more about my concern for you. The sports world is dominated by men, most of whom _are_ rather chauvinistic. I’m just concerned that you’re going to be uncomfortable working in an environment like that in the future.”

“Mr. Seahorn, do you mind if I’m honest as well?” Emma asked.

He narrowed his eyes at her slightly, like he was surprised she had even dared to ask the question at all. “Please, Ms. Swan.”

“I’ve been in the sports world for the last eight years. I covered the entire Big East when I was eighteen. I’ve dealt with reporters who think I don’t know anything because I’m a girl, coaches who refuse to answer my questions because of who I am. I’ve even dealt with athletes who think my interviewing them is some veiled attempt to get with them. I know how to take care of myself here, Mr. Seahorn. I can personally guarantee you that this world doesn’t scare me, nor will it prevent me from doing my job.”

He tilted his head to one side, his eyes still narrow. The deep wrinkles around them made it difficult to see them. That made it difficult for Emma to read his face and, by extension, what he was thinking. 

Emma sat up a little straighter in her chair hoping it would make her look slightly more professional.

“You know sports, Ms. Swan?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough.” He stood up from his chair behind the desk and turned to look out the windows. If Emma looked past him, she could see the entire Manhattan skyline. It was a nice view, but it was also a lot to take in.

“What I mean to say is,” Seahorn continued, "that in order for this to work you can’t simply know the facts. You have to be more than just a writer.”

“I understand that,” Emma said. “If you take a look at that series I mentioned about social media, you’ll see that I understand that. I am in this for the long-haul. I’ve had a Twitter since I was sixteen. I can create relationships with a team. People want to tell me things, Mr. Seahorn. They always have and here’s a secret – I know when they’re lying to me.”

“Is that so?”

“Call it a sixth sense. It’s helped me out quite a bit.”  
  
“I would imagine it has.”

Seahorn took a deep breath and stared at Emma for a beat before, finally, cracking a smile at her. “Why sports?” he asked. “Why not something else. That lie detector of yours would do well in news.”

Emma paused, considering her answer and then she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out.

“I don’t know, honestly. I mean, I can’t remember a time where I didn’t love sports. I wasn’t one of those kids who played all the little league sports when they were growing up, but I knew people who did and I knew I wanted to know what it felt like to be on a team. I wanted to know what it felt to be a part of something. So I played some basketball when I was in high school, but that was about the about the same time I started getting really involved in writing and I suddenly realized that I liked that a heck of a lot more than actually playing a sport that required me to run to be successful.”

Mr. Searhorn laughed, catching Emma off guard. She wasn’t trying to be funny. She was being honest. Sports were a home of sorts for her. Watching the relationships that a team provided, the built-in support system even when things went horrible on the court or the field or wherever.

Emma had always wanted that and when she realized it might not be in the cards, she resigned herself to writing about it.

“That was an excellent answer Ms. Swan.”

“Thank you.”

“I think you could be a real asset to _The Record_ ,” he said, any traces of laughter gone from his voice.

He thought she could be an asset to this paper. Emma smiled.

“Really?” she asked. There was that insecurity getting the better of her.

“Really,” he repeated, nodding his head. “I understand why Carl was so vehement in his applause of you. You’re incredibly engaging, you know what you’re writing about, and from the looks of things, you really seem to enjoy what you’re doing as well. Those are all things we hold very dear here. “

“Thank you Mr. Seahorn.”

“Don’t thank me; you’ve done this entirely for yourself.”

Emma felt an involuntary swell of pride hearing that. She had done this on her own. No one else was writing her columns or articles. No one else was being their perfectly charming self at interviews. No one else was doing this but her. That was a rather excellent feeling when she knew where she had started.

“The only problem we have now,” he said. Emma’s stomach dropped about four stories into the floor. “Is that I’m going to have to admit to Killian that he was completely right about you. Between you and me, it’s rather difficult for an old man like me to have to admit to a young guy like Killian that he was right. It’s not something I particularly look forward to. Although, in your case, I’m happy to do it.”

Emma breathed out a laugh, desperately waiting for one final question from Seahorn.

“So, Ms. Swan, how would you like a job here at _The Record?_ ”

“I’d love it,” Emma said wholeheartedly.

“Excellent. Seeing as you’re the newest member of the team, you’ll most likely be covering whatever beats we have open at the time. This means you could be doing hockey one night and college lacrosse the next. Is that understood?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Good. Now, you’ll start officially next week. Monday. Sports staff usually comes in around 12:30 since the nights are so long. You’ll get your permanent ID badge that day and sign a, frankly, absurd amount of paperwork.”

Emma nodded, trying to make sure she was absorbing all the information that was being thrown at her.

“It’s a salary job, obviously. You’ll sign your contract on Monday afternoon and go over some of the specifics with legal. After that, you’ll be an official member of the staff.” Seahorn paused, glancing up at the ceiling. “I think that’s it for now. Any questions for me?”

“No, I think I’m all set,” Emma said. “Thank you. Again.”

Mr. Seahorn stood up and Emma followed suit,

“Welcome to _The New York Record_ , Ms. Swan. I’m sure you’re going to do excellent work for us.”

“I’m sure,” Emma agreed.  
  
“I’ll see you on Monday.”

Emma walked out of the office, the same stupid smile plastered on her face from the moments before. She was certain people were staring at her and she almost didn’t care.

She wasn’t going to live in a cardboard box.

Everything was ok.

As she walked into the elevator, Emma replayed the last hour in her head. Suddenly, she remembered the business card that had been stuffed quickly in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the scribbled line of handwriting again, making sure she hadn’t gotten the wrong idea before.

It was still exactly the same as it had been. He still wanted to meet her after to find out how the interview had been.

Emma shook her head slightly and folded the card back into her pocket. The elevator doors dinged open and she walked back into the lobby.

He wasn’t going to be there. This was Killian Jones they were talking about. He had much better things to do than wait to find out if her interview went well. Although, Emma argued, he really should be concerned after he bluffed his way into making Mr. Seahorn think she had job offers at competing newspapers. That alone should have made him an invested observer.

No, Emma thought, he wasn’t going to be there. That was a good thing too. He was much too attractive for his own good. Emma had a million phone calls to make – people to tell about this job. Maybe she didn’t have time for Killian Jones.

Yup, that was it. She didn’t have time for him.

He was leaning against the wall of the lobby when she got there. That surprised her. Emma was pretty certain he would have been late if he was going to be there at all. He just kind of seemed like the kind of guy who was never on time.

He turned around when he heard Emma walking, noticing the heels clicking on the fancy tiled floor. He looked confident, which Emma had to admit, was a good look for him. His arms were crossed across his chest like they had been in Seahorn’s office and Emma noticed that little smirk he seemed to enjoy using so much was on his face as well.

Emma narrowed her eyes and lowered her eyebrows. He didn’t seem to notice the annoyance that was radiating off of her. He simply looked amused.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

Emma sighed. “How do you think it went?”

“I think it probably went great.”

“You think you know everything don’t you?”

Killian lowered his hands, stuffing them almost immediately in his pockets. “Not at all,” he said, sounding almost shocked. “I know I don’t actually. But I do know how to work Michael so you can get what you want is all. I was just trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask you to help,” Emma said, working to keep her voice level. “I don’t need you to try and fight some sort of non-existent battle for me. I had an interview with Mr. Seahorn, not you. You shouldn’t have been involved at all.”

Killian laughed out loud, the sound of ricocheting off the walls. “You can call him Michael when he’s not around, you know. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Emma rolled her eyes, ignoring him completely. This wasn’t helping maintain her good mood. She walked forward, meaning to go around him and straight out the door. But Killian was faster, putting his arm out quickly and blocking her path. Emma sighed and turned her head towards him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“Why won’t you let me leave?” Emma asked, slightly exasperated.

“Answer the question first.”

“What?”

“How did it go? The interview, that is.”

Emma’s shoulders slumped and she felt herself cave to the undeniable charm of Killian Jones. “It went great,” she said honestly.

Killian smiled, leaning his head to one side. “I knew it.”

“Of course you did. Can I go now?”

“You like coffee?” he asked, ignoring her.

“What?”

“Do you like coffee? In other words, do you drink coffee?”

“I’m really more a hot chocolate kind of girl myself,” Emma said, shrugging, like she was admitting to some sort of crime.

“Do you want some?” Emma wished he would speak in full sentences. These half-things were infuriating.

“Right now?”

“Right now,” he repeated, nodding.

“Um…” Emma faltered, flustered a little bit.

Truth be told, she wanted to go. Killian was, admittedly, very charming, and Emma couldn’t deny that it was nice to have someone – especially someone who looked like Killian did – stare her like that. But his cockiness was like a flashing neon sign, warning Emma of problems to come.

He seemed to notice her hesitance and his smile only grew more pronounced.

That was hardly fair. He smiled at her and Emma immediately felt like her heart had expanded twenty sizes and butterflies erupted in her stomach. She felt all the air rush out of her lungs. She was dizzy and inexplicably happy.

“I’m not gonna bite you, you know,” he said, raising his eyebrows so that his face turned almost mocking.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Killian said. He sounded a little hurt and it took Emma back a step. She tried to convince herself that she hadn’t hurt him. She wasn’t sure how she would have done that. She just met him – no one could have that kind of impact on someone in a matter of a few hours.

“Exactly,” Emma pointed out. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“So let’s try and figure that out.Try something new, love, it’s called trust. And I promise, Emma Swan, on my life that I will not bite you. At least, not until we get to know each other better.”

“If that’s supposed to be a line, it wasn’t a very good one.”

“It wasn’t a line.”

“So what exactly is it is we’re doing here then?” Emma asked, pointedly ignoring the fact that he had called her _love_. She would cross that bridge later. Much later.

“Waiting for you decide if it’s safe for you to go and get coffee, or you know, hot chocolate, with me. You’re the one taking a ridiculously long time.”

Emma sighed and shut her eyes, running her hand through her hair. “I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly,” he said, smiling widely and reaching his right hand out to wrap around her wrist. Emma had to admire his tenacity. It seemed Killian Jones didn’t surrender lightly. Well, neither did Emma.

This was going to be one heck of an interesting cup of coffee. Or hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this more like part one of chapter two – it just kind of got away from me and I didn't want to overwhelm with new job and coffee/hot chocolate talk all in one chapter. That'll be up soon, since it kind of all goes together. 
> 
> That being said, thank you for being so kind to me world. I'm still vaguely terrified to post and update, but I'm really, really enjoying writing this story and I appreciate every single click, kudo and comment.


	3. Chapter 3

They were walking out the double doors before Emma had really even comprehended anything aside from the feel of his hand wrapped around her wrist. His hand was warm and Emma could feel the goosebumps forming underneath his touch.

Killian laughed quietly, tugging on her arm lightly and that was enough to wake Emma up. She jerked her arm out of his grasp – maybe with a bit more force than necessary – and put a few much-needed inches of space between them.

Deep breaths. She had to take a deep breath.

He noticed the movement almost immediately and Emma wondered if there was anything Killian missed.

They had barely gone a few steps before he stopped walking. Emma almost tripped over her heels.

“We’re here,” he said, turning to face her.

Emma stared up at the run-down coffee shop, a million questions immediately floating into her mind. When he had asked her for coffee, Emma just assumed they’d walk around the block to Starbucks. This was New York, after all. Maybe if they got really crazy, they’d go to Coffee Bean.

But this was something else. Emma hadn’t expected this.

The small sign above the door read “Josie’s” and it looked like nothing had changed since 1952. It probably hadn’t been cleaned since then either.

“Seriously?” Emma asked, concerned the CDC hadn’t shut down this place yet.

He shrugged. “Trust me; it gets better once you try the drinks. You almost don’t even notice the rest of the other stuff.”

“Right.”

Emma walked in nonetheless, following Killian as he held the door open.

She sat down at the table closest to the window, leaning her head on her hand and staring out at the people walking at the sidewalk. Emma heard Killian talking to the man behind the counter, ordering coffee.

This was absurd.

People didn't just have coffee – or hot chocolate – with a guy like Killian Jones. They met at board meetings and through a string of professional connections or galas sponsored by insanely rich newspaper publishers. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

Yet there she was, having nearly run him over in the hallway, and now he was buying her hot chocolate.

Emma glanced in Killian’s direction, hoping he wouldn’t notice her staring. He was leaning up against the counter, his feet crossed and his fingers mindlessly rubbing the back of his left hand. She couldn’t see the scars from where she was sitting, but Emma knew they were there.

He had a nice body – she had to give him that. It wasn’t the first time the thought had passed through Emma’s mind that day, but it was the first time she had considered it as a co-worker. He was even more than that now, he was a competitor of sorts. He had the byline Emma wanted.

But he definitely had a nice body.

Killian turned suddenly, catching her by surprise to look over his shoulder. His eyes caught Emma’s and he smiled, winking so quickly she barely even registered it. Emma felt her jaw drop. What was going on here?

She was turning into a pile of woo'ed mush at this disgusting table. Emma Swan didn’t turn into a pile of woo'ed anything for anyone. At least not since...no. That train of thought was dangerous.

Killian picked up both cups off the counter, balancing them rather precariously in his right hand, and walked back to the table.

Emma reached towards her bag, trying to pull out her wallet.

“What are you doing?” Killian asked, sounding vaguely appalled.

“I’m getting my wallet,” Emma answered, nodding towards the cup. “How much was that?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What?”

“Consider it a new job present.”

“I’m not looking for charity hot chocolate.”

“And I’m not offering any. New job hot chocolate,” he said, pushing the cup closer to Emma. “It was two dollars. I think my bank account will survive.”

Emma smiled instinctively, not really even noticing it as it happened. Killian raised his eyebrows and started drinking some of his coffee.

“So, any particular reason you asked me here?” Emma asked.

She was always upfront about questions – journalist, after all – but even her friends would be impressed with how forthcoming she was being with Killian.

Well, two friends. Mary Margaret would be impressed. David probably would be too, but he was really more apt to shoot off a slightly sarcastic comment than any kind of praise.

Emma wasn’t sure what it was about sitting in this undoubtedly disease-infected coffee shop that helped boost her normally above-average bravery. She kind of thought it might have been Killian himself. Like there was something different about him. Like he would listen to her when she talked.

Then again, sometimes Emma could be a bit sentimental.

Killian sighed – almost as if he was a little sad that she had asked the question.

“Is it too much to believe I just wanted to talk to you?” he asked.

Emma shrugged. “Not many people want to just talk. Most of the time there’s another reason.”

“You think I have some sort of hidden agenda?”

He raised his eyebrows and his mouth turned into a smirk. Butterflies. Emma had butterflies. That didn’t happen to Emma. She had lost control of the situation and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.

Killian was obviously waiting for some kind of answer, absurdly blue eyes wide as he let her process her thoughts.

“I don’t know exactly,” Emma admitted in response. “Maybe you do. But I don’t think you wanted me here just to prove you could pay for my drink, celebratory or otherwise.”

“You’re a little bit cynical aren’t you?” he asked, laughing. Emma shrugged again and made a face. “Add to the list of things I find relatively fascinating about you.”

“We had a ten minute conversation after I ran into you – you couldn’t possibly find anything fascinating about me.”

“Excuse me,” he said taking on a tone of mock-disappointment. “Please don’t tell me what I can and can’t find fascinating. I’m my own person, thank you very much and I find you, despite the length of our conversation, fascinating.”

Emma wasn’t sure what to do with that. No one had ever found her fascinating. Interesting, ok, sure. A good friend – at least to Mary Margaret and David – fine. But never fascinating.

Killian was charming her – and she was falling for it.

“What exactly do you find so fascinating?”

“You don’t like your name.”

Emma was stunned. She gasped and shook her head quickly, trying to find her bearings. No one knew that.

“How do you know that?”

“The way you said your name when I asked, it was almost like you resented it.”

“I don’t resent my name!”

Emma had to shut her eyes quickly. They were treading on some very thin ice. She hadn’t lied when she said she didn’t resent her name, but she hadn’t been entirely truthful either.

Once upon a time Emma had hated her name. She hated that it never matched up with the families that she lived with or the people who took her in.

A product of the foster system, Emma spent most of her childhood bouncing from house to house, picking up “Swan” as a last name when she was just out of diapers. She kept it over the years as a sign of pride, something she could control in a life that she never felt entirely in control of.

Eventually, however, Emma found a bit of a home in Storybrooke and Swan, suddenly, seemed to fit. But that was a different story entirely.

So, sure, Emma didn’t hate her name anymore. She just didn’t need Killian to hear the reason why either.

“Ok, but you don’t like your name,” Killian said, interrupting her short walk down memory lane.

“That’s not really a secret,” Emma said.

“Are you going to explain why?”

Emma pursed her lips, chewing on the inside slightly and trying to decide if she was. Killian waited patiently, arms crossed across his chest again. He didn’t say anything else and Emma could almost feel the silence.

“Maybe,” she sighed. “I, um, I grew up all over the place before I finally settled with a family and, I kind of stumbled into Swan.”

Killian nodded as if he understood perfectly. “Anyway,” Emma continued, “people seem to make assumptions when they hear my name – as if Swan as a last name requires me to detest all things athletic. I don’t appreciate having a reputation before someone really knows me.”

“I can understand that.”

Emma bit her lip again, the information she knew about Killian’s pre-journalism life weighing down on her a bit. She didn’t have long to brood, however, as he followed up with another question.

“Where did you go to school?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m curious where you wrote,” he said as if it were the most obvious reason in the world.

“I went to Seton Hall.”

“You’re a Pirate then?”

Emma laughed, smiling at Killian across the table. “That is exactly what I am.”

“And you were a journalism major?”

“Yuh huh.”

“And you were editor there?

“Just sports editor,” Emma replied, shaking her head. “Not editor in chief.”

“That’s just as respectable.”

“Thanks for the approval.”

“I’m not sure I ever gave it, but you’re welcome to it all the same,” he said, matching his sarcastic tone to Emma’s perfectly.

“Are you planning on telling me anything about yourself or are you just going to interview me some more?” Emma asked, raising one eyebrow and issuing her own smirk. Killian looked flustered for a moment, but quickly recovered, smiling back at her.

“I already told you, I’m not interviewing you. This is just general and friendly curiosity.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I was trying to get you to answer mine.”

Emma nodded deftly – journalists really were the worst – and dragged her cup a little closer before finally taking a drink. There was cinnamon in this.

She blinked quickly, trying to make sure she didn’t completely lose her mind at the table.

“Something wrong love?” Killian asked.

“Is there cinnamon in this?”

He bit his lip and smiled nervously, reaching his hand back to pull on the hair just behind his ear. “Uh, yeah,” Killian answered. “When I was growing up my mom always used to put cinnamon on hot chocolate. I didn’t know there was any other way to drink it until I was 12. I put it in there. Do you not like it?”

Emma smiled, feeling as if she could finally breathe again. Her foster mother in Storybrooke – Ingrid – had always put cinnamon on hot chocolate as well. Emma didn’t have a lot of good childhood memories, but that was one of them.

“No, I, uh, I just always put cinnamon on my hot chocolate too,” Emma replied, glancing up at Killian.

The smile she gave her was something else. There were those damn butterflies again.

It didn’t take long until Emma realized she had drank the entire cup. It took Killian even less time to realize the same thing.

“Do you want some more?” he asked, laughing slightly.

“No, no, that’s totally fine,” Emma replied, shaking her head and wondering if it would really be wrong to want more.

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“That stutter is a tell-tale sign, you know,” Killian said. “So it’s pretty obvious you’re lying. If you want more, it’s ok. As far as I know, mass hot chocolate consumption isn’t a crime.”

He was so full of himself it was infuriating. And vaguely attractive. Emma hoped she could find some middle ground sooner rather than later. While she was pondering Killian had grabbed the cup out of her hand and and started walking back towards the counter.

“Hold on a second,” she yelled. “You didn’t answer any of my questions yet.”

“You didn’t ask any yet.”

Emma scowled and groaned. “Ok, fair point. But you haven’t given me the chance either. I don’t need more hot chocolate, you know.”

“There’s a difference between wanting something and needing it. You want more, it’s fine,” Killian responded.  “Alright, let’s make a deal. You let me get you some more to drink and then, I promise, to come back and answer any questions you have for me. So, long as you answer some of mine after.”

“That’s two conditions on your part, you know,” she pointed out.

“I know that. But that’s my offer take it or leave it.”

Emma sighed. “Taken.”

“Good.”

Killian turned back towards the counter and started talking to the man behind it. He seemed relaxed as if he was entirely secure in who he was and what he was doing or may ever do for that matter. Emma wished she had ever felt like that. Or at least she wished she felt like that on a consistent basis.

He leaned one elbow on the counter and talked to the man there as if he had known him his whole life. Emma heard him laugh and smiled at the sound of it. He ran his hand through his hair – she had been right about that – and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

Emma couldn’t understand what the two of them were saying, but she did notice when Killian turned his head to glance in her direction. The man behind the counter was looking at her. Emma ducked her eyes, the flush rising in her cheeks.

She could hear his footsteps on the floor and the chair scrape against it, signaling when he came back. The smell of the hot chocolate and cinnamon helped a little bit too.

Emma raised her eyes to meet his. He was staring at her, albeit a little worriedly.

“You saw that?” he asked. Emma nodded. “Sorry about that,” he continued. “It’s just, Jerry,” he nodded towards the counter, “he’s known me since I moved to the city and I, well, I never come in here with anyone. He was being obnoxiously curious.”

Emma lowered one eyebrow, smiling. He had brought her there before anyone else. He didn’t know her and he had brought her there.

Well, that was unexpected.

“Oh,” Emma said, cringing slightly at her less-than-ideal response. “Well, it’s fine. I thought maybe you were talking about me behind my back.”

“No, not yet at least.”

“Excellent.”

“You’re very sarcastic.”

“I’ve been told that since I was about twelve,” Emma said. Ingrid was nothing if not forthright when describing Emma’s antics as a teenager.

“Well then don’t stop now. You’re well practiced in it.”

“You’re very frank, considering the circumstances, you know.”

“What circumstances are those?” he asked.

“I met you today.”

“You keep bringing that up and I keep finding it consistently unimportant.” Emma laughed – she couldn’t help it, _God_ , what was happening – and he smiled at her, leaning forward a little bit so there were only a few feet between them.

“Anyway, you wanted to ask me questions, didn’t you? Wasn’t that a part of the deal we had?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Alright then, do your worst.”

“Favorite movie.”

He jerked back a little bit, surprised. “What? That’s your first question?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t want to know the stereotypical personal information first? Where I grew up? What school I went to? If I played sports?”

“No,” Emma answered simply.

“Why not?”

“Are you whining?”

“No. I am…confused.” He made a face. It was obvious he didn’t like admitting to certain things.

“Asking what your favorite movie is a perfectly legitimate question.”

“It just caught me off guard, is all. It’s a legitimate question, sure.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Is there a reason you don’t want to know the other things?”

Emma bit her lip. “Emma?” he asked. Her head jerked up at the name. Emma liked the way he said it, probably much more than she should have.

“What do you already know about me?”

“Um…all of that?”

His eyes widened and Emma bit her lip so much that it was practically pulled all the way behind her teeth. “All of it?” Killian laughed. “How could you possibly know all of that?”

“I...umm, I remember it happening,” Emma said, slowly. Maybe she should talk faster. Like pulling off a band-aid or something. “After you got hurt. I mean, Louisville was in the Big East too at one point and I remember hearing about it.”

His shoulders slumped at the mention of it. Emma wondered if it was hard for him to talk about it or even hear about it.

It would have been hard for her, she thought, to lose something that she loved so much for such ridiculous reasons. Killian didn’t have any control over it and now it was gone forever. Emma wasn’t sure how anyone could deal with something like that.

“Did you write about it?” he asked.

Emma shook her head quickly. “No, no, that was before I was actually an editor or anything, just some pleb on staff. They wouldn’t have had me write about something that. Not something important.”

“Important?”

“Important.”

“I try not to think about it,” Killian said, pushing his left hand off the table and rolling his shoulders.

“It’s got to be hard,” Emma said. She couldn’t come up with anything else.

“To get hurt? Trust me, that wasn’t hard.” He laughed sarcastically and shook his head. “The hard part was after. It…well, honestly, it’s never been worse. I didn’t know what way was up. My whole world had been centered around baseball for so long, since I was a kid. And then, it was gone. Just like that and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Your hand, right?” Emma asked, already knowing the answer. She just wanted to keep him talking honestly. 

He nodded, grimacing. “Yup.”

Emma knew a cut-off when she heard it, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking more questions. Journalists.

“How?” she asked. Killian narrowed his eyes at her and sighed.

“Car accident,” he said softly. “It was stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“I shouldn’t have been in the car. Liam told me not to get in the car.” He was babbling now. Emma waited, barely letting herself breathe. “He said it was dumb. I should have been practicing more. But they were all going out and I didn’t think it’d be bad. I never really took a night off. What was the worst that could happen?”

Killian laughed darkly and shook his head. His hand was back on the table and he was running the back of it again.

“Who’s Liam?”

“My brother,” Killian said quickly.

“You said he didn’t want you to go,” Emma said. “He pushed you into baseball?”

“Oh no. I don’t want you to think that. I wanted it. I loved it, everything about it. Baseball made me. Oh yeah, I wrote occasionally. I did alright in school. But, baseball; that was what I was best at. People knew who I was because of it, they noticed me.” He stopped talking suddenly, his eyes ducking away from Emma's, staring at the half-finished coffee cup in his hands. “I don’t want you think this is some great big sob story; it’s not. I mean, it all worked out in the end. I got hurt, yeah, but because of that, I started writing more. I like writing, I do, and I’m good at it. So, it’s ok now.”

“It still sucks,” Emma said softly. She felt her heart swell a little bit as Killian smiled sadly and rolled his eyes.  
  
“I don’t want you to feel bad for me. I’m not looking for pity.”

“And I’m not offering it.”

“Oh. Well, good then.”

“Good,” Emma repeated.

He stopped talking again and looked at Emma. She couldn’t quite breathe again. No one had ever looked at Emma Swan like that. It made her uncomfortable. She also liked it.

That was confusing.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “You shouldn’t have let me talk so much.”

“I wanted to hear it,” Emma said, meaning it completely.

“You wanted to know my favorite movie.”

“That too.”

“Back to the Future. Part two.”

Emma tilted my head, completely taken aback. “Seriously?”

“What, you don’t appreciate the nuances of time travel as explained by Marty McFly?”

“I never even imagined,” Emma said, shaking her head. “It just doesn’t seem like you. You’ve got quite a reputation you know.”

“I never wanted it.”

“But you like it.” Emma gasped, her breath catching in her throat the minute she stopped talking. That wasn’t what she had meant to say at all. “Oh God,” she sputtered. “Killian, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all.”

“I think you probably meant it. It’s ok, you’re right. I do like it, but shouldn’t I be able to?”

“Of course you should.”

He smiled up at her and his eyes were – she would swear to it in court – even more blue than before. How did he do that?

“You know,” he continued. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Killian.”

“That is your name isn’t it?  
  
He nodded. “As far as I know. I just like it better when you say it.”

This was flirting. Killian Jones was flirting with Emma Swan and Emma Swan kind of liked it.

He knew he was good looking, knew that he was talented, knew that Emma was – almost – falling for the whole thing. Emma was smarter than that though.

But despite the act, or whatever it was, there was something there, something just beneath his eyes that wanted to let Emma in. Not the him that he was in college, the baseball superstar, not the him that was on _The Record_ or the one that got invited to all the parties and all the events all over the city. Deep down, he wanted someone to know exactly what he went through when he got hurt and to know that it was hard to write about the glory he should have had that other people were getting. And, even if Emma had just met him, she wanted to know it; all of it.

“I’ve never told anybody any of that, you know, about getting hurt,” Killian said quietly, like he was admitting it against his will.

Emma opened her mouth to say something, only to close it immediately. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Actually that was a lie. She knew exactly what to say, but that would mean delving into some fairly nasty childhood memories and she wasn’t going to do that. Not now, not ever, not even when this guy put cinnamon on his hot chocolate too.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued. “I know, well I know this didn’t turn out the way either of us wanted. I never meant to get all self-pitying on you. You’re just easy to talk to. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re gonna be great at _The Record_ you know. Michael really liked you, even before the interview. He asked me to read some of your columns, they were really good. You know what you’re doing.”

“You read my columns?”

“Yeah, I mean, just a few, but enough to understand the way you write.”

“So then you already knew where I went to school before you even asked me,” Emma said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice. “You knew who I was the second I told you my name!”

“You already knew I got hurt.”

Point to him.

“Plus,” Killian added. “Louisville used to be a Big East school. I remember that question you asked Rick Pitino.”

Emma’s eyes went. “What?” she gasped. “You weren’t even in school then.”

“Please,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “That made national news. No one was supposed to say anything about the investigation and you barged right into that press conference, guns blazing. It was incredible.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, repeating herself from moments before.

“I told you I found you fascinating,” Killian said, before narrowing his eyes and taking on a business-like presence. “Fair’s only fair. Now you’ve got to answer one of my questions.”

“I’m scared to find out what you could possibly want to know about me.”

“Where did you grow up?”

Well, shit. That was the one question Emma was hoping to avoid.

Killian noticed immediately. He tilted his head to the side and smirked. “You ok, love?”

Emma pushed her tongue into her cheek and tried to decide what the best course of action was. Ok, so he couldn’t know everything, but he could know some things. After all, she’d already told him she was a system kid. Or at least that she had moved around a lot. She’d just add to that a bit.

“Well, I already told about my name. Foster kid,” she started, pointing at herself. “But I did finally settle down. Kind of. I landed on Ingrid’s doorstep when I was 12. It wasn’t always perfect, but Storybrooke was nice – ‘ish. Stereotypical small town. Everyone knows everything about everyone because they’ve all lived there for eight thousand years.”

“America hasn’t existed for eight thousand years,” Killian interrupted.

“Please take my exaggerated point for what it’s worth.”

“Done. Continue, please. Small town, eight thousand years, thrilling.”

“Anyway, it’s good if you’re there from the start, but for a foster kid with a weird last name a small town is the absolute worst. Everyone wants to analyze you and no one really wants to be friends with you because you don’t really belong there. That’s why I started writing. If I wasn’t part of the team, I could at least watch them. The whole town thought I was insane when I came to the city. I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere but here. And writing has always been my life."

“I liked your column title,” he said. “It was cute.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ingrid would print them all out and hang them up around her house. She’s incredibly proud...or something.”

“She should be. You’ve done a lot of impressive work.”

“I hate that. I’ve just done what I’ve always done; worked. I can’t sit still, I get bored too easily. That’s why I needed this job so badly. I was going insane.”

Killian narrowed his eyes and Emma realized she had said too much. “Oh crap,” she muttered.

“But you’ve had jobs before this one.”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “But this is my break. This is a chance to do something good in this city.”

“Why didn’t you ever just go home?”

“I wasn’t just gonna move back home. I couldn’t. That would have been…the ultimate, failure. God, the talk that it would have caused. Ingrid wouldn’t be able to go outside for months before something like that would die down. You don’t understand where I’m from. People talk. I had to keep trying.”

“I can understand that and appreciate it. It’s admirable.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you nervous? About the job? I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Honestly?” He nodded. “I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have anything to be scared of.”

“I can’t ruin this. I don’t have anything left.”

Killian stared at Emma, his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. She had to stop herself from leaning across the table, pulling on his suit jacket lapels and kissing him senseless. This was not going to make her job any easier.

“I know you’re going to be fine,” Killian said with such force that Emma almost believed him instinctively.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve read your columns.”

“Like three of them.”

“You’re grasping at straws now Swan,” he said, shaking his head.

No one had ever called her that before and it gave her pause.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“No one’s ever called me that before.”

“I like it,” he said, refusing to make any excuses for his decision. “It seems like you.”

“I thought you said you knew I didn’t like my name.”

“True. But then you explained your reasons. And swans aren’t just delicate birds, you know. You ever seen _Swan Lake_? She beats down.”

“Yeah and then she dies at the end.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Nickname aside, you still haven’t told me how this job is going to inevitably work out.”

“Simple,” he said, “I’ll be there.”

Emma was laughing before she could come up with a reason not to. The sound of it seemed to ricochet off the grimy walls of the shop. She wasn’t some damsel in distress. No one protected Emma Swan except Emma Swan.

Certainly not Killian Jones.

Except he hadn’t received that memo.

“You’re going to protect me from the big bad newspaper world?” Emma asked, skeptically. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself you know.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“No, but you’re gonna get it none the less.”

Emma sighed and shook my head. “Is that the way it’s gonna be then?”

“That’s exactly the way it’s gonna be.”

“Fine then,” Emma let out a breath and closed her eyes lightly.

“Fine,” he repeated. “Then answer one more question.”

“What?”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an absolute monster and I apologize for my tendency to go overboard. I have too much banter playing back and forth in my mind. It had to be typed out. I also know it's a bit out of character for either Emma or Killian to offer up so much information right from the get-go, but trust me, there's more to these stories and things had to kind of get set-up early on. 
> 
> Sidenote on Emma not liking her name. It's a bit of a headcanon of mine that she kind of wore it as a badge of honor as she got older, but I think it makes some sense that any kid growing up in foster care wouldn't particularly appreciate her last name not matching with her family's. Anyway, just my thoughts. 
> 
> As per usual, thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said calmly, staring at her friend across the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure I entirely understand what’s going on here.”

She had gone through the entire afternoon several times already, but Emma knew she was no closer to making her roommate understand the magnitude of what had happened than she was when she started.

Emma sighed, shaking her hair off her shoulders and down her back. Truth be told, Emma wasn’t sure she understood either.

She wasn’t the kind of person to get wrapped up in flirting. That hadn’t been her in a very long time and she certainly wasn’t going to start now, especially for someone with a reputation like Killian Jones.

But then...the conversation the two of them had in that disgusting little coffee shop hadn’t ended with favorite movies and vaguely deep personal revelations. It was easy talking to him. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward. It was almost as if she and Killian were friends. Almost.

“Ok, so he asked you for coffee,” Mary Margaret continued. Emma nodded. “And he paid?”

Emma nodded again.

“That seems like a date.”

Emma practically choked on the air she was breathing.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why not?”

“He works at the paper M’s. He’s a ridiculously successful sportswriter. He’s not asking people like me out on dates.” Emma was annoyed. This wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted to have.

“What is that supposed to mean? Why wouldn’t he ask people like you out on dates? That’s ridiculous Emma.”

Here we go again, thought Emma. This was Mary Margaret’s favorite line. She was like Emma’s own personal ray of perpetual sunshine – or at least she wanted to be.

Mary Margaret and Emma first met when they were twelve years old. Emma had moved into Ingrid’s house the week before and it hadn’t been easy. This was her fifth house in four years and Emma was tired – more tired than any twelve year old should ever be. And then, suddenly, Mary Margaret had showed up on the doorstep, cookies her mom baked in hand, determined to be Emma’s friend.

She was the only one.

Emma didn’t care. If she had Mary Margaret, she didn’t need anyone else.

The pair were inseparable throughout high school and when Emma decided she wanted to go to college out of state, Mary Margaret didn’t even hesitate to go with her.

“M’s, this is not a question of my shitty self confidence,” Emma said. Mary Margaret looked unconvinced. “It’s not, really, I promise. But what I’m telling you is that Killian Jones and I did not go on a date today. It was new job celebratory hot chocolate. That’s it. He’s my co-worker. That’s all it’s allowed to be.”

Mary Margaret smiled and Emma narrowed her eyes. She knew what was coming.

“That’s all it’s allowed to be?”

“Yes,” Emma said forcefully. “Exactly. I’m not looking for something else right now. I’ve got a job to do M’s and Killian isn’t that job.”

“Emma, I know that. Of course he isn’t your job. But maybe he could be a happy perk?”

Mary Margaret looked so positive, Emma almost found herself agreeing with her simply out of instinct.

It made sense of course. Mary Margaret believed in the absolute cliche and perfect power of love to fix every problem in the entire world. It had worked for her, it should work for everyone.

Mary Margaret and David were true love with a capital ‘t’ and had been since freshman year in high school. David came to Seton Hall with Mary Margaret and Emma and the three of them had been their own form of the musketeers.

Except sometimes – and Emma would never admit this – Mary Margaret and David would look at each other and she felt like the lone musketeer out.

There was a time when that wasn’t true, when there was someone else to round out the quartet and Emma believed in everything Mary Margaret wanted her to. But then that went pear-shaped and Emma didn’t really know what she believed in anymore.

“A happy perk that cannot be acted on,” Emma said. “I’m not doing this again.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Mary Margaret continued. “Just maybe be open to the opportunity of it? Killian isn’t Neal.”

For the second time, Emma choked on the air around her. Mary Margaret never actually said Neal’s name around her. She was pulling out the big guns for this one.

Neal Cassidy had been perfect.

Emma was convinced he was perfect. She met him her junior year in college, sitting in the stands when she was covering a basketball game. Emma remembered thinking he should be on the cover of a magazine somewhere – tall and thin with dark hair that just swept across his face.

He was smart too. He knew things Emma had never even thought about, places she had never heard of. He’d been everywhere. He could do anything. And his arms, _God_ – Emma still couldn’t quite think straight when she thought about his arms.

He was perfect.

And then he wasn’t.

It happened very quickly – they hadn’t even been together very long – before it was over, before Emma found those absurdly perfect arms wrapped around someone who wasn’t her. She was devastated and Mary Margaret and David were left to pick up the pieces.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she loved Neal. Emma should have known, right? When you love someone, it’s supposed to be obvious. Mary Margaret and David knew when they were fourteen. But Emma still couldn’t figure it out.

Six years later and Emma still wasn’t sure if she really ever loved Neal Cassidy.

“I know Killian’s not him,” Emma said, refusing to actually say his name. Mary Margaret picked up on that immediately.

“Emma, Neal is gone, you know that right?”

“I know that.”

“Your journalist is not the same guy. He won’t act like that.”

Emma laughed. “You don’t know that.”

“Intuition.”

“About someone you’ve never met?”

“I’ve met you,” Mary Margaret said. “And spent the better part of the last hour listening to you talk about him. I feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

“Of course you do.”

“And I know something else. I know you’re interested.”

“M’s you don’t know that,” Emma argued half-heartedly. She was totally interested. This was going to be a problem.

“Shut up and admit you think he’s kind of hot.”

“M’s! Oh my God. Where did that come from?” Mary Margaret never said anything like that. Out of all the surprising things that had happened that day, that might have shaken Emma the most.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “I know, but I also know you better than anyone Emma and I can tell you’re excited about this. Not just the job – although that’s pretty darn exciting too – but this Killian guy. He puts cinnamon on his hot chocolate too. That’s a sign.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is coincidence.”

“Nope. Sign. Destiny and whatnot.”

“Ok,” Emma moaned. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

“You could give him a chance.”

“That’s what he told me,” Emma admitted. “He told me to trust him.”

“Do you?”

Emma bit her lip and nodded, unable to actually say the word. Mary Margaret’s smile was reassuring. “I knew it,” she whispered.

“He’s just…” Emma started. “I don’t know, he’s interesting I guess? He’s been through some shit M’s, some serious shit and, I don’t know, I liked talking to him.”

“That’s a start,” Mary Margaret said.

“For?”

“For you falling in love with him, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes so hard she felt her entire head move as well. It was a bit over the top, but she needed to prove a point.

“You know what I think?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I can only imagine.”

“I think you’re already halfway in love with him now.”

“M’s, you’re not thinking straight. Do I need to call David? Have him take you to the hospital?”  
  
“I’m serious,” Mary Margaret continued. “You haven’t talked about anyone like this, well, ever, Emma. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know you do, but this isn’t just a random guy. He’s important. And I can’t be distracted when I’m starting out.”

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows suspiciously, shooting Emma a rather pointed smile. “He’s important?”

“M’s, I swear, I’m not doing this now.”

“Fine,” Mary Margaret sighed, moving out of the way as Emma walked – more like stalked – off to her room. "But just promise me you won't be mean to him."

"This isn't school, but yes, I promise I will not be mean to him."

Emma heard Mary Margaret sigh as she shut the door behind her and collapsed back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind was racing and she couldn’t quite get the picture of Mary Margaret’s all-knowing smile out of her head.

Ok, so what if she did like him? She was allowed to like someone, that didn’t mean she had to automatically act on it. It didn’t mean anything. After all, they both had deadlines to reach and Emma was certain Killian wouldn’t be asking her for hot chocolate – celebratory or otherwise – any time soon.

Plus, Emma argued silently to herself, Killian did have a bit of a reputation. Now that she had seen him in person, Emma understood why. He probably had a girlfriend. Or a _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit model who spent a few nights a week at his apartment.

Whatever. Emma didn’t care. She didn’t. She totally didn’t. She just had to keep telling herself that.

It didn’t matter – she got the job – that’s what was important.

Emma suddenly realized how exhausted she was, the feeling hitting her like a metaphorical freight train – talking about emotions with Mary Margaret usually did that to her and she only grumbled slightly as she reached down to pull up the comforter over her legs.

She fell asleep much faster than she ever would have expected and woke with a start, grabbing her phone and staring at the screen. Three in the morning. Fantastic.

Emma shook her hair away from her face, trying to remember the dream she was having. That didn’t happen very often, usually Emma slept like the dead. This had been a good dream though and she racked her mind back, trying to remember what it looked like.

There had been a house, a white one with red shutters, like the ones that had lined the streets in Storybrooke. There had been a fence out front and flowers on the porch. There had been kids too, laughing and smiling in the yard. The girl was throwing a baseball to the boy.

She cried when he threw it back to her and it missed her hand, hitting her on the arm. In a flash, there was another person there, a tall man with dark hair. He was holding her in a second, whispering in her ear and rocking her against his side.

“Shh, Lils,” he said. “It’s ok. Ian didn’t mean to hit your hand. Next time you’ll just have to hold your glove up higher, ok? It’s ok baby,” he continued. “Daddy’s got you.”

Emma had been standing on the porch the whole time, leaning against one of the white pillars next to the stairs. She was transfixed by the man who still had his back to me. Something about him was vaguely familiar.

Emma was distracted by a small voice next to me. “Mom,” he said and she looked down into dark blue eyes that were staring at her in fear. “Mom,” he repeated, “I’m really sorry about Lilly.”

Emma crouched next to him, instinctively, so they were on eye level to one another.

“She’ll be ok in a second Ian,” she had said. “Dad’s taking care of her. She was just surprised.”

“She’ll be ok?” he asked, still sounding unconvinced. Emma nodded and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Promise.”

The man turned to look at Emma and winked, as the girl finished her tears, too tired to continue. He walked towards the steps of the house, sitting down on them, near where her feet were.

“You ok baby?” Emma asked the girl. She nodded, her cheek still rubbing against the man’s shoulder.

“We’re all ok,” the man said and Emma smiled, knowing it to be true. He leaned forward, tilting his head around the girls and reached up to kiss her.

Emma kissed Killian back, smiling against his lips, completely content with the world around her.

That was when she had woken up and realized, unequivocally, she was in a shit ton of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am vaguely overwhelmed by the fantastic response to this. I cannot say how much I appreciate it. Thank you so much for all the hits, comments, kudos and bookmarks!


	5. Chapter 5

Emma stared at her closet, wondering why she hadn’t planned all of this out before Monday morning.

She should have picked out her outfit on Sunday night. Mary Margaret had wanted to take her shopping, insisting she needed a first-day outfit, but Emma had adamantly refused. This wasn’t a new school year and truth be told, she couldn’t really rationalize spending money on a brand-new outfit when she had plenty of things to wear already.

She just couldn’t pick anything out now.

Emma sighed dramatically, rolling her head back and forth, before, finally, grabbing the plain black dress that was hanging in front of her. She picked up the blazer that was hanging off the back of a chair and slid her arms into it before grabbing the heels that were still sitting in the corner of her room from her interview last week.

That was good enough.

Emma had done her best not to think too much about everything that would happen on Monday afternoon. It had worked...alright. Ok, so she dreamt about Killian Jones. She dreamt she was married to Killian Jones with two kids and a white picket fence. Whatever. That didn’t mean she would jump him as soon as she stepped into _The Record_ office.

It didn’t.

She would just act normal, do her job, write her articles and then go home. Simple.

Emma was repeating her silent mantra as she climbed up the stairs out of the subway station, suddenly certain that everything was going to be fine.

Oh, _God_ , it would so figure.

Killian Jones was leaning against the front of the building, some thirty feet away from her, his phone pushed up against his ear with his shoulder and a notepad balanced precariously on his knee. He was smiling, that sort of halfway-there smile, and Emma knew, without question, he was getting what he wanted out of this interview.

It only took him about ten seconds before he realized Emma was staring at him.

The smile was full-blown now and Killian raised his eyebrows, almost as if he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Emma took a deep breath and waved slightly, waiting on the light before dashing across the road and skidding to a stop in front of him. Killian was still on the phone when she reached him and Emma was quick to move around him, but he grabbed her arm quickly, almost pulling her down to the sidewalk.

Emma shot him a quick glare, regaining her balance with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, nodding his head toward her. It was an impressive feat considering the phone was still smashed between his ear and his shoulder.

Emma shrugged and waited as Killian wrapped up the call, thanking whoever he was talking to for their time and promising to see them soon.

“Do you always fall over, is that just when you’re around me?” Killian asked, staring at Emma. She scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed and shook his head, stuffing his phone into the back pocket of his – Emma had to admit – well-tailored pants and glanced up and down her torso. He practically leered at her. That was surprising.

“You look...nice,” Killian said after a few moments.

“Nice?”

“Would you like another adjective?”

“No,” Emma answered. “I’ll take nice, it just seemed like it took a moment for you to come up with that.”

“Are you in the habit of analyzing everyone’s speech patterns or is that just me too?”

“God, you have an awfully high opinion of yourself don’t you?” Killian simply laughed. Emma tugged her phone out of her bag and glanced back down at the time. She had two minutes to get into the office.

“You in a rush to get somewhere, love?”

There was that nickname again. Well, that needed to stop now.

“Don’t call me that,” Emma said distractedly. “I just don’t want to be late.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Please, no one will notice. You’re not punching in Swan, I think you can afford a few moments outside.”

“It’s my first day,” Emma argued. “I’d like to at least set some sort of respectable standard.”

She glanced back down at her phone. She was now, officially, a minute late. Well, fuck.

“You look angry,” Killian said pointedly.

“I’m now, also, late.”

“Me too.”

“Yes, well, when it’s your first day and you’re, now, three minutes late, that doesn’t make a very good first impression.”

“You’ve met all these people already.”

Emma groaned and spun towards the giant glass doors in front of her, Killian following shortly behind.

“Swan,” he continued. “Didn’t I promise to take care of everything? Trust me, you’ve already made a good first impression.”

There was that _trust_ word again. Emma didn’t do trust well. That was just part of her makeup and, now, here was Killian Jones asking her to trust him – again. This was starting to get a lot more complicated than it had to be.

“Hey Leroy,” Killian muttered, pushing his ID towards the security guard.

“Afternoon Killian.”

“Did you meet Emma?” Killian asked, nodding in Emma’s direction. “She’s our new sportswriter.”

“We met when I came in for my interview,” Emma said, waving at Leroy. “Hi again.”  
  
“I remember you,” he said. “You’re the young one.”

Emma nodded, sighing slightly. “That’s me.”

Killian leaned against her, so close Emma could have sworn his nose brushed up against her hair. “See, good impressions.”

“Shut up,” Emma muttered.

For a guy who seemingly never left his desk, Leroy the security guard could certainly hear pretty well from his seat. He stared at the two of them with a look of wonder on his face, as if he couldn’t believe that Emma, brand-new _New York Record_ employee, had told Killian Jones, shining star of that same newspaper, to shut up.

“Attitude, Swan,” Killian laughed quietly, still pressed up against her ear. Emma could practically feel his entire body pressed against her and had to strongly resist the urge to simply lean back into it.

That certainly would have made a good first impression with the rest of _The New York Record_ staff.

Only Emma couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he seemed to be doing a good share of the initiating here. Huh.

Leroy, ears just as astute as ever, stared nervously at the pair, gazing at what appeared to be the first steps of a fight. That was another interesting turn of events and Emma quickly noted that both of their conversations – there had really only been two – seemed to start out this way.

“We’ll see you later Leroy,” Killian said, breaking Emma out of her thoughts and effectively pushing her into the building.

Killian leaned around her – a totally unnecessary move – and pushed the elevator button. Emma turned her head to look at him with raised eyebrows, which he met immediately with his own.

“You look like you have something on your mind Swan,” he said, following Emma into the now open elevator.

“You think so?”

Emma needed to try to not be so sarcastic. Mary Margaret told her that at least once a day.

Killian laughed and leaned against the side of the elevator, crossing his arms, exactly the same way he had when he was staring at her across the street.

“You get upset about things rather easily don’t you?”

“And you think you know me so well, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” he said, and for a moment he sounded sincere. That was until the, becoming increasingly famous, smirk showed up on his face again. “That’s why I’m asking these questions. I’m interested in finding out more.”

“I can’t quite figure out why,” Emma said, only half meaning for him to hear her.

Out of all the unexpected things that had happened so far that morning, Emma was most upset by that little admission. In addition to maybe toning back the sarcasm, she should also probably work on pumping up the confidence just a bit.

Ok, no, scratch that. It wasn’t just confidence – that would be too easy. It was more a deep-rooted sense that Emma Swan would never be good enough. For, well, for anything.

Never good enough for a real family or a good apartment or a last name she actually wanted. She’d never be good enough for friends or a job or, she was loath to admit, someone to love her for just being Emma.

That was hardly elevator talk with a new co-worker, though. Emma bit her tongue, trying to keep her eyes focused on the floor.

“I think you’re probably being a little hard on yourself,” Killian said, rationally. Emma shrugged. Killian just shook his head.

She didn’t have to come up with anything else to say though, saved as it were by the elevator reaching the twelfth floor.

“After you,” Killian said, holding his arm out so Emma could walk in front of him.

“Thanks.”

“You now look a little nauseous.”

“I’m fine,” Emma said a little half heartedly.

“I’ll take your word for it. But are you at all interested in what this completely screwed up department has in store for you?” Emma pursed her lips and stared at him, waiting for the trick. “No games,” he promised, as if reading my mind. 

“Alright, let’s hear your worst.”

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve assumed, this is not a normal sports desk.”

“How so?” Killian opened the doors to the office open for her, letting Emma in front of him again. Emma nodded in his direction, smiling, and waiting for him to answer. He smiled back at her, easily, and winked.

“Well, Michael isn’t really all that involved in day-to-day operations of the paper. He’s kind of old and, to be honest, he doesn’t really care anymore. So it’s all pretty much just run by staff writers.”

“You mean, it’s run by you.”

Killian smiled a little broader, nodding his head towards some of the desks they were passing. “I guess you could say something like that.”

Emma could feel the looks on her back as she and Killian passed by the reporters and their desks. It was jarring and felt a bit like deja vu. She’d been the new girl plenty of times, she could tell when it was happening again.

She glanced around the room, trying to find at least one face who didn’t seem absolutely surprised to see her and landed on a thin, brown-haired man in the corner. He was blatantly leaning over his desk to stare at her. In fact, he was staring at her ass.

“Who is that?” Emma murmured, leaning a little closer to Killian.

He followed her line of vision to the slightly greasy looking man who was still blatantly staring at her. Emma did her best not to gag.

Killian’s eyebrows lowered as he met the gaze of the man and Emma noticed his entire body go stiff immediately. “What?” she asked, turning towards him.

“Don’t talk to him,” he said quietly with an intensity that surprised her. Emma lowered her eyebrows questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

He didn’t.

“Why not? I’m a big girl Killian; I can talk to people without getting killed.”

“Not him. He’s an ass.” He wasn’t looking directly at Emma, but was instead glaring right at the man with the long, pointed nose and thin eyes. He looked like he should be the villain of some movie. Not the kind that actually does any fighting, but the one who sits behind the desk and just directs people. Like the Kingpin; only about two hundred pounds lighter.

“Does this ass have a name?”

“Walsh. His name is Walsh. He covers college basketball and thinks he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to journalism. Oh God, don’t look at him Swan. He’s just going to pull you into his net.”

“He has a net?”

“A net of obnoxious-ness.”

“You know Killian; I don’t think you like him very much.”

“He’s going to rip this section apart. I think it might be his personal goal to get into the pants of every girl on this entire paper.”

“Between you and me, I don’t find him very attractive. I think I’m probably safe.”

Killian shook his head slowly and a little sadly. “Ah, you think that, but you’re the only girl in this section and you’re brand new. You’re like a shiny toy to Walsh. He’s going to find you fascinating.”

“I find his blatantly obvious stares a little disgusting, honestly,” Emma said, starting to walk again. Killian followed suit, but stopped again when something moved just outside her line of vision.

Walsh was walking right up to them, smiling as if he had just sent his best hit man to go take out Spider-Man. “Afternoon Killian,” he said in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rise.

“Hey, Walsh,” Killian replied, ducking his eyes and inching closer to Emma’s side.

Emma simply stood still, her arms hanging at her side as she fought off the instinct to grab ahold of Killian’s wrist – if only to reassure him that she wasn’t going to fall into any Walsh-related nets.

“And who’s the lovely stranger you’ve got with you?”

Emma stood up straighter and stuck her hand into the space between her and Walsh. “I’m Emma Swan,” she said. “New sportswriter.”

Walsh’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open slightly.

“You write for sports?” His eyes drew down Emma’s entire body, lingering on her legs.

“That’s what they tell me I’m going to be doing.”

“Well, that’s unexpected.”

“Emma’s a great writer Walsh. You should read some of her college columns, they’re online. I can send you the link,” Killian said, with murder in his voice.

“That’s alright Killian,” Walsh said, matching tone perfectly. “I know how to use Google.”

Killian nodded his head once, tilting it slightly to the side before he started to walk again. Emma followed behind, but not before doing her best to smile awkwardly at Walsh. “Nice to meet you,” she lied.

Walsh didn’t say anything else, just scowling at the empty space Killian had left behind and turning to go back to his desk.

Killian was quiet as he walked further into the office and Emma could swear she almost felt the frustration rippling off him. He had a bit of a temper, she noted. Or he was just incredibly competitive. Probably a mixture of both.

It took a few more moments before she caught up to Killian. He was leaning against a desk in the back corner of the office, across the floor from the room where she had met with Seahorn the week before.

“Is this me?” Emma asked, staring at the desk and computer and swivel chair with a sense of almost child-like wonder.

“Your name is on it.”

“It is really?” Emma bit her lip in anticipation, peering around Killian to see a nameplate on the front of the desk with “EMMA SWAN” emblazoned across it. Killian turned to look at her and laughed when he saw her face.

“What?” she asked. “Oh give me a break. I’m excited. Weren’t you excited when you first started?”

“I don’t think anyone has ever been as excited as you are right now.”

“That is a lie and you know it.”

“Is someone paying you by the disagreement or do you really just object to everything I’m saying?”

“That’s not fair,” Emma objected, realizing after the fact that she was disagreeing with him again.

He smiled at her again and shook his head. “This is your desk. I made sure that there were pens and notebooks in the drawers too. And I put all the passwords for the paper-wide sites underneath your keyboard.”

“Thanks.”

“It would seem that I like you, Swan.”

Emma knew he didn’t mean it like that, per se, that it was simple co-worker friendliness that was forcing him to do these things, but she couldn’t quite shake that feeling that he was being honest. Her sixth sense had never been wrong before and it didn’t feel like Killian was lying now. That shouldn’t have caused her heart to beat a little faster or her breath to catch a bit when she noticed him sitting on the edge of her desk like he owned it, but Emma couldn’t come up with a reason not to.

It was definitely a moment. They were having a moment. Until it was over.

“I know you’ve got a ton of paperwork and stuff to fill out today,” Killian said, snapping Emma’s attention. “But there’s a staff meeting at 2:00 that you probably aren’t going to want to miss.”

Emma felt like she had whiplash. Yeah, the moment was definitely over and Killian was jumping straight into boss-mode. He wasn’t even the boss.

“Ok,” she said softly. “Thanks.”

“Alright, well I’ve got to get some stuff done before the meeting, so I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Ok.”

And then he was gone. Dashing, figuratively speaking, to the other side of the office and his much fancier and more important desk.

Emma sat down at the desk trying to push thoughts of Killian out of her head and glancing instead at the passwords taped underneath her keyboard. She tapped on her phone screen – fifteen minutes until this super important staff meeting. At least she had time to get her head on straight.

Or she thought she did.

“Did you really just walk in with Killian Jones?” asked a voice Emma had never heard before.

The voice belonged to a girl, tall – thanks in large part, Emma assumed, to the ridiculously high heels she was wearing – with light blonde hair that appeared to just have a natural wave to it.

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, slightly shell shocked.

“I saw you. I saw you walk in with Killian Jones,” she said a little accusingly. “How do you know Killian Jones?”

“Ummm, well I met him when I came to interview last week.”

“You mean you work here?”

If one more person asked if she worked here, Emma was going to punch them. She had a mean right hook.

“Well, today is my first day, but strictly speaking, yes, I do.”

“And you met Killian when?”

God, maybe he ran the entire paper, not just the sports section. “Last week – when I came to interview.”

“Is he as nice as everyone says he is?”

“Is that what people say?”

“So he’s not nice?”

“I didn’t say that.” Emma quickly shook her head. “No, Killian’s a really nice guy.”

“Well you’re going to be working with him aren’t you? Your desk’s in sports, so you write for this section?”

“Once I start writing, yes,” Emma said. “I’m sorry; I don’t want to be rude, but who are you exactly?”

She shook her thick hair, strands of it flying across her face. She blew them away, making a noise before answering. “Of course. That was so rude of me. I’m Kathryn Gordian. I’m a lifestyles writer.”

Emma raised my eyebrows, everything suddenly clicking into place. “Oh, nice to meet you. I’m…”

“Emma Swan,” she said, looking down at the perfectly straight nameplate.

“Ah, right.” There had to be people there who weren’t completely and utterly socially uncomfortable. There had to be normal people there. It was a successful newspaper; there had to be.

“Well,” Kathryn said, leaning a little closer to me over the desk. “If you learn anything else about the elusively charming Killian Jones, you’ll have to let me know. All the girls in lifestyles are just dying for any information about him. And, well frankly, the two of you seemed pretty friendly.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“No need to be embarrassed. Killian’s just the greatest and he’s really just taken this paper by storm. Anyway, I’ve got to go because of the meeting, which you have to be at too, but make sure to let me know if something happens between the two of you. I’m up on the seventeenth floor.”

She nodded a few times, like she was confirming what she had just said. Emma tried to smile, but found herself rather intimidated again. Kathryn patted her desk twice and, finally, walked away, heading to the staff-wide meeting.

Emma sank against the back of her chair, sighing. This was insane. These people were insane.

And they were probably going to make her go insane. Well, at least it would be interesting. She looked up at the time on the computer and felt her breath catch. Three minutes and counting to the meeting.

Emma grabbed a pen and one of the notebooks out of the drawer and jumped out of her swivel chair on her way to the meeting of the staff she was now a part of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit of a two-parter here. I have a tendency to be particularly wordy, so I wanted to break up the action so to speak. Thank you so much for all the hits, comments, kudos and bookmarks. Things are going to start picking up a bit for Emma at The Record and while that obviously includes Killian, there's a whole lot of different factors going on here. So while I know we all want Emma and Killian to make out as much as possible, we've got a few chapters to go before we get beyond the slow burn/pining. There are few things I love more than mutual pining.


	6. Chapter 6

There was barely any space left in the conference room by the time Emma got there with only about a minute to spare before they were supposed to start.

She glanced around the room, hoping to find someone who looked vaguely familiar. No one even looked in her direction. They were all too busy having conversations with each other or faces pushed up against phone screens, furiously typing e-mails.

Emma shrank back against the wall. She couldn’t see Killian anywhere. This was insanity.

The door opened a few feet away from her and she jumped involuntarily. _God, get a grip Emma_ , she thought to herself.

The woman who walked in was about the same height as Emma with brown hair that was at least three times longer and curlier. She had a camera slung over both of her shoulders, which didn’t seem right at all considering how blatantly pregnant she was.

“Do you want some help with that?” Emma asked, already reaching her hand out.

She smiled gratefully. “Oh my God, thank you. I just carried these things half a dozen blocks. I think I’m gonna go into labor in the middle of this stupid staff meeting,” she said, laughing.

She shrugged her shoulder and slipped the camera off. Emma wrapped the strap around her arm, pulling it up away from the ground.

“No problem,” Emma said, meaning it.

The woman let out a slightly deep breath and pressed her hand up against her spine. She turned to Emma again and smiled, tugging on the side of her purple dress.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Emma said cautiously. “But, well, I mean, shouldn’t you be on maternity leave? Or, you know, at least sitting down?”

“Oh, I am,” she answered, still laughing. “Only, I’ve been going crazy in my apartment. And my husband’s taking his bar exam next week, so it has to be completely silent at all times so he can study.” She rolled her eyes and Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “So, I’ve been cleaning; everything and anything, which is not something I would do in any other circumstance. But I found these in the hallway closet and, God knows how they got there, but I figured I should bring them back so they wouldn’t press charges against me.”

Emma chuckled to herself and smiled at the woman. She liked her. Or, more specifically, she liked how happy she was. Emma wasn’t sure – aside from Mary Margaret – she had ever seen someone so happy.

“When are you due?” Emma asked, probably overstepping the bounds of socially acceptable questions.

“Just under a month. Not soon enough.”

She suddenly got a very strange look on her face, as if she had suddenly remembered something forgotten. “You know, I haven’t been at _The Record_ in a while, but I don’t remember ever seeing you here before,” she said. “Did you just start?”

Emma nodded, wondering how many times she would have to go through the same motion with different people over the course of the day. “No, you’re right. Today’s my first day here, actually.”

“Oh, wow. And how do you like it so far?”

Emma was more than ready to spout out some incredibly cliche phrases about what a great time she had been having and what a fantastic opportunity this was, but she couldn’t lie to this woman. That just seemed wrong.

“You don’t have to lie,” the woman said, touching Emma’s arm. “It’s not easy. Trust me, I get that. But I do promise it’ll get better.”

“I just don’t really have anything to do yet.”

“That’ll change soon. Just know, they make you work for it.”

Emma’s eyes widened, but she couldn’t ask her follow-up before the door next to her opened again and Killian walked through, his hand tugging on that piece of hair behind his ear with a particularly stressed out look on his face.

“They haven’t started yet have they?” he asked to no one in particular, but it didn’t take long for his gaze to land on Emma. She shook her head in response.

“Good,” he muttered, still pulling on his hair.

“Oh, c’mon Killian,” the woman said. “You know better than anyone that the trio can’t do anything on time. Mike probably isn’t even here yet.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma said, anger rising up in her before she could stop it. She stared straight at Killian who looked just a bit scared in response. “You told me I _had_ to be here on time. I sprinted down a dozen flights of stairs for this.”

“You’re way too worried about this Swan,” he said, reasonably.

“Killian, you ass, are you telling this poor girl lies on her first day?”

“Shouldn’t you be home A?” he asked, matching her tone perfectly. “You’re on maternity leave for a reason. Where does Phillip think you are?”

“That’s not important,” she said, waving her hand in front of her dismissively. Well, apparently Killian Jones had a penchant for handing out nicknames to everyone. Emma wondered how many there were.

“Anyway, I’m only staying to hear the meeting, see a few people and then I’m going straight home.”

“You promise?”

“Your concern for my well being is heartwarming Killian.”

“Oh, don’t worry; it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s all about making sure you don’t mess up the sports photo schedule. I know you A. You’re gonna go find out about a game and make someone get you credentials. Well, it’s not going to happen.”

“He’s right,” the woman muttered, glancing at Emma with laughter threatening just behind her eyes.

“You take sports photos?” Emma asked, intrigued.

The woman rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Swan,” Killian said, moving so he was standing next to her. “This is Aurora Reynolds. She’s _The Record_ ’s latest up and coming talent. And, well, you know she can take some pretty good pictures too.”

“Oh gee thanks,” Aurora said. “That’s high praise coming from Killian.”  
  
“I’m Emma Swan,” Emma replied, holding her hand out. Aurora took it immediately, shaking it fondly.

“I see she’s got you carrying her equipment for her already,” Killian said, nodding towards the camera still hanging off Emma’s shoulder. “Leave my writers alone A or I’m gonna tell the people at the Garden to cut you off completely.”

“Now, now, Killian. There’s no need for threats. After all, you can’t cut me off completely. With a baby on the way, that would just be cruel.” Emma stared at Killian, who made a face and shook his head.

“Ignore him,” she continued to Emma, “He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. Anyway, Killian’s claiming you for one of his own. Do you really write for sports or is he just trying to take credit?”

Emma shook her head. “No, I really do write sports.” Well, that was three times she’d been asked about it and she’d been in this office for about an hour. At this rate, Emma would have about twenty different people question her. Great.

Emma heard people start to mumble a few feet away and several heads began to turn in the direction of the far corner of the room.

“Let the show begin,” Killian muttered.

Michael Seahorn walked in first, followed by a trio of other men Emma had never met before. She had a vague idea of who they were, though, and Aurora proved her right.

“Those two guys next to Mike are Sydney Glass, he’s the managing editor, and Isaac Heller, the editor in chief. Oh, and that guy,” Aurora nodded towards the final man walking in, “that’s George Baum. He’s the publisher.”

“But wasn’t this just supposed to be a staff meeting?”

“That’s what they’re calling it,” Aurora said calmly. “Ah, but you probably didn’t get the e-mail did you?”

“I don’t think I even have an e-mail yet.”

“Killian!” she said sharply, smacking his arm. He snapped his head up, looking perfectly innocent. “She doesn’t have an e-mail yet!” She shook her head, while Killian just shrugged.

“Anyway, they’re saying staff meeting, but it’s an announcement; they’re going to be changing things here.”

“Changing things how?” Emma asked nervously.

“We’re going young,” she said simply.

Her single statement didn’t make much sense to Emma, but she could tell by the tone of Aurora’s voice that it meant everything to this paper. Something important was about to happen.

The four men sat down at a long table in the corner of the room, leaning towards each other and whispering. The result was a dull buzz that swept throughout the entire room. No one should whisper around journalists, it just gets them talking.

Suddenly, the man Aurora said was Isaac stood up and the room practically froze.  

“I’m sure you’ve all gathered from the amount of you here that this is not your typical staff meeting,” he continued. Again, more murmuring in response, some heads nodded in agreement, others glanced nervously at the people standing next to them. Killian still hadn’t moved an inch. Emma wasn’t sure he was even breathing anymore.

“Well, you’re all right. This is not your typical meeting. Generally, you all know, you’d met with your section editors and they’d tell me what was going on. The difference here today is that I have some very exciting news to share with you all.”

Exciting. The word gave Emma pause and a few other people around her seemed to have similar responses. She glanced towards Killian, still stock still, still possibly not breathing.

“Sydney and George are here with me this afternoon to help me make the announcement.”

The crowd was silent now. Emma was positive if you had dropped a pin, you would have been able to hear it easily. Everyone was frozen, no one more so than Killian.

“As some of you may know, some of you may not,” Isaac said, “our sports editor Michael Seahorn has decided to step down at the end of the month.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open slightly and she had to force herself to close it. Her eyes stayed just as wide though. Emma had been one of those people who didn’t know that. This was crazy. She was a new writer without an editor. Emma didn’t know how to function without an editor.

Then it hit her. If Michael was leaving, someone had to fill his spot. Suddenly this enormous staff meeting made a heck of a lot more sense. And then Emma remembered something else – what Aurora had said earlier. They were going young.

Emma looked back over at Killian who now appeared as if he was in physical pain. He wasn’t tugging on his hair though, a move Emma had quickly learned was a tell of his. He was rubbing his left hand, pushing his fingers into the back of it.

“Michael’s been with _The Record_ since 1974, so it’s about time he takes some time off,” Isaac said, laughing. The two men next to him joined in, but that was all. Everyone else was waiting to hear who would be replacing the old man.

“Anyway, Michael’s departure leaves quite a void in our sports department, which as you’re all aware, is the pride and joy of this paper. Knowing the reputation we here at _The Record_ have for covering not only New York sports, but events across the country and the world, replacing Michael is an incredible responsibility, one that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

If there had been any doubt in Emma’s mind before that Killian was it, it was gone the moment she noticed how green his face had turned.

“The three of us,” Isaac, pointed behind him to the other two men, “have been thinking for several days about who the right person would be to do this job. It hasn’t been easy, but we think we’ve settled on someone who’s going to bring the section up even higher quality-wise.”

Emma pulled her attention away from Isaac for a few moments to glance around the rest of the room. She noticed Walsh skulking in the opposite corner from where she was standing. He was staring at the front of the room as if they were going to announce the second coming.

He really thought he was going to be sports editor. Emma had been a member of this staff less than two hours and she already knew wasn’t going to get it. Then again, Killian did call him an ass for a reason.

“You know him as the pride of the paper already, someone other organizations look to as a marker for sports journalism.” Killian looked like he was going to throw up. He put on a pretty good show, but, Emma thought, deep down, he didn’t really want all the attention people gave him.

“So without prolonging this meeting any more than it has to be, I’d like to introduce you all to the brand new sports editor of _The New York Record_ , Killian Jones.”

The room started to applaud and Killian moved away from Emma towards the front of the room. He was trying to smile, but he looked nervous too, as if he wanted to run away from the room and never come back. Emma looked at Walsh, who had frozen completely in the corner, a look of shock plastered across his greasy face. She smiled at that.

Killian shook Isaac’s hand and the then the other two men as well. He stood straight in between them all, while the rest of the room stared at him.

“Killian will be keeping his weekly column, in addition to editing the section, so no need to worry about losing that read,” Isaac said. Some of the people laughed at that joke.

Killian didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, everything made sense; why they needed a new sportswriter, why Killian had been asked to read Emma’s columns and clips before she was interviewed. Emma thought it was because they just trusted his opinion. But it was because they were prepping him to take over. That was why he had agreed to running the section when she mentioned it before. He really was running the section.

And now those dreams Emma was having were even more inappropriate before. _God_.

Killian was still sandwiched between the powers that be at _The New York Record_ , his hand leaning against the table as if he needed it to stay standing up. Emma bit her lip, forcing herself to look away.

Mary Margaret had been right – at least to a certain extent. Emma liked him. That much was obvious. It was also treacherous.

Emma wasn’t a nun. She also wasn’t very good at relationships. In fact, since Neal had left, it had really more been a string of meetings than anything that resembled an actual relationship. She was good at that. She liked that.

But Killian was different. He was obnoxious and full of himself, but if his reaction to this new promotion was any indication, he was also a little terrified. The combination had sparked Emma’s curiosity and she couldn’t stop herself from seeking out answers.

Journalist.

Killian turned away from Isaac slightly, tilting his head up and scanning the room. He smiled when he caught Emma’s eye. She felt a small sense of triumph in that.

Maybe this would be ok. Maybe they could just be friends.

“Alright everybody,” Isaac said suddenly, drawing the attention back to himself. “That’s pretty much all we have to offer right now.” That was another joke. “I’m sure we all wish Killian the best of luck with the sports section. So now let’s all get back to what we were doing before.”

The crowd started to disperse immediately and Emma watched as Killian shook the three men’s hands once again. He nodded at a handful of other people who had walked over to congratulate him before starting to make his way back to where Emma and Aurora were still standing.

“So that’s it then,” Aurora said.

“Is that what you thought was going to happen?” Emma asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, Michael’s been talking about retiring since before I even started at this paper and that was nearly two years ago. It was bound to happen sooner or later and once it did, Killian was always going to be the one who replaced him.”

“They really like him don’t they?”

“Oh yeah, he’s a veritable Sally Field around here. He’s a good writer too though and I think that’s what Isaac likes the most about him. Don’t let him fool you, Isaac is all about talent. He’s good at finding it and he’s better at keeping it. He’s grooming Killian as his successor. He’s putting him in for the long run.”

“That’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think?”

“Sure it is. But journalism is nothing without a little pressure.”

Emma laughed quietly, adjusting the strap of the camera on her shoulder.

“Aurora!” said a familiar voice from just behind her. Emma looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Seahorn practically running up to the two of them, which considering he was probably in his seventies was fairly impressive.

“Hi Mike,” Aurora said, smiling broadly.

“Darling, shouldn’t you be sitting down? Or even better, shouldn’t you be at home, resting, like you’re supposed to be?”

Aurora shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I’m not made of glass Mike.”

“Does Phillip know you’re here?” Whoever this Phillip was he sounded like a fairly protective husband. It was kind of romantic. He probably could have given David a run for his money – Emma made a mental note to pass that challenge along to him later that night.

“You know I’ll be back before Phillip even realizes I’ve left. Anyway, I wanted to give Joseph back the cameras that I somehow found in my apartment. You don’t want me stealing _Record_  property do you Mike?”

Mr. Seahorn made a face and started to laugh out loud. The sound of it made Emma jump a little bit. “Well you’ve got me there Aurora. Only promise me one thing will you?”

“Sure.”

“Go home after you’ve given them back, ok? Go home and sit down and don’t get up until after you have this baby. You’re not supposed to be running all over the city. You’re gonna give me a heart attack acting like this. I can’t die until after I see the baby.”

“Aw Mike, don’t talk like that, you’re not dying.”

“I know, but humor me ok?”

“I promise,” Aurora said, smiling. “Plus, I haven’t even been really holding the cameras. Emma’s been doing all the heavy lifting for me since I got here.” She nodded in Emma’s direction and Seahorn looked over for what the first time since he had walked over.

“Emma?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Swan,” Emma clarified, shrugging.

“Ah, Emma!” he said. “I didn’t even notice you there. It’s so nice to see you again. How’s the first day going?”

“So far so good,” Emma replied.

“Well this meeting affects you the most. Feel free to tell me how disappointed you are that I won’t be your editor. I promise not to tell Killian.”

“I promise I’m incredibly disappointed,” Emma said, only laughing slightly. Seahorn smiled. “Although this is a great choice.”

She scoured the thinning crowd in search of Killian. Emma found him fairly quickly. He had made it about three quarters of the way to her before he met an obstacle.

She wasn't very tall, but she was thin, blonde, leggy. She was leaning in close to Killian, talking, though Emma couldn’t tell what she was saying. She had a dress on too – green – and heels that almost perfectly matched. She pressed her palm flat against his chest and laughed a tinkling, sound that sounded as if it should belong to some brand of fairy. He didn’t pull away, but smiled at her instead and Emma realized he was talking too. He was flirting.

Emma felt something stab across her chest and it took a few moments to realize what exactly it was – jealousy. Of course the idea of being jealous of this woman and the conversation she was having with Killian was ridiculous. She had no reason to be jealous, no reason to think he should be talking to her instead. Although, he had looked at Emma the moment they had announced him as editor and he had winked at her while he was walking back, trying to get back to her.

Emma was definitely jealous.

“Good, good,” Seahorn said, completely unaware that Emma was having a different conversation in her head. “Well ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work. Remember your promise Aurora.”

“Will do boss.” She saluted as he walked away and Seahorn rolled his eyes at her.

“Well,” she said, turning to me. “I think that’s my cue to head upstairs.”

“Do you want some help bringing these up?” Emma asked, shrugging the shoulder with the camera on it.

“No, thanks. It’s only a few floors in the elevator and then Joseph’ll take them off my hands forever. Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’ve got someone else who’s going to be wondering where you are if you run off.”

Emma ducked her eyes, laughing sarcastically. “Eh, I don’t know about that. They seem pretty preoccupied.”

Aurora’s eyes travelled in the direction of where Killian was still standing with the leggy blonde and sighed. “Yeah, well that’s Killian. I don’t think you’re the only one who’s ever realized he’s particularly good looking, in addition to all the fame and talent and everything else.”

Emma sighed. “Excellent.”

“Maybe you should just go back to your desk.”

“Maybe I will.” Emma pulled the camera off her arm and handed it over to her. She smiled encouragingly and held her empty hand out to me. Emma took it almost immediately.

“It was great to meet you Emma,” she said, sounding like she really meant it. “I hope everything works out for you here.”

“So do I.”

Emma noticed a small mountain of paperwork on her desk when she got back from the meeting with a post-it note on top that read: _fill out, ASAP_.

Well, she thought, no time like the present.

Emma grabbed a pen out of the drawer and sat down, filling out her address and social security number with practiced ease. She was on her third form when a voice interrupted her work.

“Swan?”

Emma snapped her head up at the sound of his voice, sitting up a little bit straighter and pushing the pen into her now ponytailed-hair.

“Hey,” she said, trying to remain nonchalant. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He lowered his eyebrows, dragging the word out longer than necessary.

“What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he repeated. “Where did you go before? I’ve been trying to find you for the last half an hour.”

“Were you?” That was probably a little below the belt. They both knew he was going to come back to talk to her.

“You saw me! Have you been sitting here this whole time?”

Emma nodded. “I’ve been here since the meeting ended. Sorry you didn’t realize earlier. I just figured I should come back here and get a jumpstart on the paperwork since you seemed a little preoccupied.”

He smiled, letting it inch along his face until it was complete. “You’re not making any sense love.”

“Sure I am. I came back here so I wouldn’t interrupt the conversation you were having with that other person. It’s only my first day Killian – I can’t just barge in on conversations quite yet.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, but stared at Emma with a look of curious bemusement on his face. “Tink?” he asked, suddenly.

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Tink. That’s who I was talking to. She works on the city desk. That’s what you’re mad about, right?”

“I’m not mad,” Emma objected, quickly, pushing the chair away from the desk so she could cross her legs underneath it.

“Sure you are.”

“You don’t know me well enough to know when I’m mad and when I’m not. For all you know, this could just be the way I am all the time.”

“That’s not true and we both know it. Now admit you’re mad about Tink.”

“No. I still don’t even know what a Tink is. That’s not a name,” Emma said. Killian laughed. 

“I really was on my back to you, you know. Honestly Swan, she just showed up out of nowhere and started talking to me and telling me how she always knew I was going to get the job the moment Michael retired. Bull. She and I got along when I first started working here and then she met up with Walsh and that was the end of that. She hasn’t said so much as two words to me in the last two years.”

Emma didn’t say anything. “I wanted to talk to you Swan,” Killian continued.

Emma took a deep breath, believing much faster than she would have liked. He wasn’t lying. She knew he wasn’t lying and knowing that made all of this a heck of a lot more difficult than it had to be. This was a recipe for disaster.

“Don’t be mad,” he continued.

“I’m not mad,” Emma promised.

“You gonna talk to me now?”

“I guess that depends on what you want to talk about exactly.”

“So you know I’m like your boss, now,” he said, smiling and leaning against her desk.

“Are you really gonna play that card already? You’ve been editor for forty minutes and you’re already pulling rank on me?”

“I’m just stating a fact, you know.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Well then do you think I might be able to get something to do? I’m going crazy just sitting here.”

“Are you bored already?”

“A little bit,” Emma admitted. “Paperwork is the worst.”

“That disappoints me,” he said laughing.

“I can’t create stories out of thin air, you know.”

He was sitting on the edge of the desk again, twisted a little bit so he facing Emma. He laughed again, letting his roll back again a little bit, running his hand through his hair and leaving little strands standing up in his wake.

Emma stood up suddenly, leaning across the desk to move closer to him. He smiled at her, not stopping her. He was quite a flirt. But Emma wasn’t good at this and she certainly wasn’t smooth, hitting her knee on the underside of the desk.

“God,” she muttered.

“Did you hit your leg?”

“My knee.”

“You alright?” he asked, the threat of laughter apparent in his voice. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to help you,” Emma said with a slight edge. Killian picked up on the tone immediately, pressing his lips together and nodding his head solemnly as if this were the most important thing in the world.

Emma reached her hand out and brushed his hair down so it wasn’t all standing up on edge. She tried to keep her breathing steady and noticed that Killian had gone stock still again.

He reached his own hand up and wrapped it around her forearm, goosebumps forming underneath it almost immediately.

“There,” Emma said softly, moving her hand down. He kept his hand wrapped around her arm until they were both resting on the desk. His fingers were covering hers and the goosebumps were still there.

“Thanks,” he said. Emma nodded slightly, staring straight at him. Neither one of them said anything else.

“Um… Killian,” said one of the other writers in the section, a guy Emma had been introduced to earlier that morning, but had already forgotten his name. “Some of the guys have some questions for you about the game last night. When you’re not busy.”

Killian nodded, not looking away from Emma for a second. “Yeah I’ll be right there Will.”

The guy looked at her – Emma could feel him staring straight at her – with her hand still covered by Killian’s.

“I should probably go figure out what’s going on over there,” he said softly.

“This is your job now.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t move though, but kept staring at Emma. She pulled her hand out from underneath his and put both of them behind her back. There. That was a step in the right direction.

“I think Will’s waiting for you,” Emma said. That was his name. Got it. Killian nodded.

“When I’m done with whatever’s going on over there,” he shrugged in the direction of the rest of the office, “I’ll find you something to do so you don’t die of boredom. I promise, ok?”

“Can’t wait,” Emma said breathlessly.

He winked at her again – that seemed to be becoming a trend now – and walked to where Will was standing a few feet away, still staring at her.

Well fuck. This wasn’t going to be good. Everyone in this office was going to start talking now. Emma Swan was used to people talking about her, but she wasn’t used to being a gossip magnet for her non-relationship with an editor.

It didn’t seem as if she had a choice.

Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guuuuys. I cannot begin to thank you enough for all the wonderful reactions to this story. Things are starting to get a bit more plot-driven now, so I'm hoping y'all will be as interested in Emma's life at work and home as much as you're interested in vaguely witty banter. Again, any and all hits, comments and kudos are appreciated more than I can possibly say.


	7. Chapter 7

A week after she had started at _The Record_ , Emma found herself falling into a routine.

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly a perfect routine, but it was only her first week. At least that’s how Emma was rationalizing it.

She hadn’t gotten a byline yet. Not that it was bothering her. At least not a lot.

In fact, Killian had barely spoken to her over the last few days, overwhelmed, it seemed, by his new mantle of editor.

He was almost constantly sitting in his new office, typing something or calling someone, while his recently-acquired secretary fielded visitors for him. Emma hadn’t been able to work up the courage to go over there. She didn’t really have anything to say.

So Emma did her best to keep herself occupied.

The paperwork hadn’t ended on her first day and after another full eight hours – _seriously_ – of filling out non-disclosure agreements and processing papers for new e-mails and social media accounts, Emma had finally finished signing her life away to _The New York Record_.

She met the rest of the sports staff and found that most of them were actually normal people. She struck up regular conversations with Will now – the one who had interrupted whatever had been going on with her and Killian after his official promotion – and the two of them spent their lunch breaks together discussing the pros and cons athlete farewell tours.

Will liked the attention paid to retiring stars, appreciated the gifts teams would give them on their way out the metaphorical door. Emma thought it was a waste, a distraction from the much-more important game. She also said athletes got enough attention as it is, they didn’t need more during their final season.

Maybe that said something more about Emma, though. She ignored that feeling.

Despite the conversation, though, Emma was itching for something more to do. Baseball was well underway and Emma knew Killian was swamped with assignments. Two teams in the general New York area left plenty of angles for brand-new sportswriters and Emma wanted an opportunity.

Hell, she thought, she deserved an opportunity.

It took about five minutes of internal pep-talking before Emma decided she finally had a reason to approach Killian’s office.

“Can I help you?” Lisa the receptionist asked when Emma was still several feet away from the office.

“Yeah, I want to talk to Killian.”

“He’s busy.”

Emma glanced into the glass room, noticing that Killian was, once again typing on his computer, but his phone was still firmly locked on top of the handset.

“Yuh huh,” Emma responded, entirely unconvinced.

She stayed rooted to her spot in front of the desk, staring a hole into Killian’s head, almost willing him to look up. It appeared he had heard her. Telepathically – or something.

Killian looked up and saw Emma staring and the smile on his face almost made her take a step back. He narrowed his eyes in question and Emma nodded towards the receptionist. She could see the moment he understood what was happening and he quickly reached for the phone, tapping a few keys before Lisa’s own started to ring.

The receptionist glanced up at Emma, who simply smiled in response.

“Hello?” she asked.

Emma couldn’t hear what Killian was saying, but noticed Lisa’s stiff posture and wondered what she had ever done to offend this woman so thoroughly.

“You can go in now,” Lisa said shortly.

“Thanks,” Emma replied, pushing open the door and walking into the glass office.

“Swan,” Killian said in greeting, leaning against his desk as he crossed his hands across his chest. His blazer was tossed carelessly over the back of one of the chairs in the corner and Emma noticed that his tie was slightly undone as well. He looked exhausted. “What can I do for you?”

She was suddenly a bit nervous.

He didn’t say anything else, almost as if he knew she was still trying to come up with an answer. He just stood there, eyebrows slightly raised and a small, encouraging smile on his face.

“I, well, I wanted to ask you a question,” Emma said.

“Ask away.”

“I want an assignment.”

“That was more of a statement than a question.”

“Semantics.”

“Fair enough love,” he said, still smiling. “But, if we’re putting all our cards on the table so to speak, I kind of already knew that.”

“You did?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way Swan, but you’re a bit of an open book.” Emma stared at him, knowing the confusion was written plainly on her face. “You tend to wear every emotion you’re feeling on your face. You shouldn’t let anyone interview you. You’d never get away with anything.”

“Is that your response to me looking for an assignment?”

Killian laughed and shook his head, standing back up to his full height. “No, it’s not,” he said. “More of a preface. I knew you wanted a story Swan, so you’ve got one. Tonight.”

“Tonight? Are you serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “That’s an absurd saying, not to mention vaguely morbid.”

“Not everyone dies from heart attacks, Swan.”

“You’re stalling.”

He laughed again and took a few steps towards her, invading her personal space completely. Emma didn’t move.

“You know the Mets are playing tonight?” he asked. Emma nodded. “Well go to the game.”

“And?”

“And cover it?”

“You want me to write a game story?”

Killian nodded, narrowing his eyes as if she was slightly crazy. “You know how to write a game story don’t you Swan? If not, we’re in trouble.”

Emma smacked his shoulder and he moved his whole arm back dramatically. This was flirting. Again. They were flirting again.

“I know how to write a game story,” she said pointedly. “I am asking because, as far as I was aware, you had a guy who did that for the Mets. See, Killian, they have these things called beat writers? They usually cover one team? They write the gamers.”

He widened his eyes in mock surprise, gasping slightly. Emma fought off the urge to hit his shoulder again.

“You are a wealth of knowledge Swan, truly. Thank you for explaining beat writers to me. I feel smarter already. Now are you ready for a brand-new piece of information?”

Emma nodded. “Sure.”

“James is sick.”

“Yuh uh.”

“James is sick,” he repeated. “Meaning he cannot attend tonight’s Mets game. Meaning there is an open spot for tonight’s Mets game. See where you come in?”

She did. “Got it. So, this is for real then?”

“This is one hundred percent for real.”

“Huh.”

“That’s how you’re going to respond to this news?”

“I’m nothing if not good at controlling emotions,” Emma said slowly. That was a different conversation. One she didn’t intend to have in a glass office with Killian Jones still only a few feet away from her.

“Noted. Well it’s yours tonight if you want it – and you should want it, one, because it’s a good game and, two, because I already sent your info in so you can get a credential. I don’t need you getting accosted by Citi Field security, Swan.”

“I’m willing to take on a few security guards,” she said. Killian scoffed at her.

“Well, let’s avoid that for now. It’s easier if you just walk up to the press box.”

“Noted,” she said, throwing his own word back at him. He smirked at her. “I can do this.”

“I know you can. That’s why I wanted you to go, love.” He almost whispered the last endearment, as if it was almost tacked on as an extra thought, like he didn’t want to forget to call her that.

Emma bit her lip. “Story in by midnight?”

Killian nodded in return. “Story in by midnight.”

“Deal.”

He didn’t say anything else, but reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it quickly. If Emma was the kind of person who counted moments, she would count this one and add it to the non-existent list she already had documenting her moments with Killian. That’s, of course, if she were that kind of person. Which, you know, she wasn’t.

His hand lingered around hers for a moment before Killian seemed to remember where he was – a very glass, very visible office – and pulled his hand away.

“See, Swan,” he said, taking a step back. “I told you I’d find you something to do.”

Emma recognized the dismissal for what it was and, just like that, the moment was over. She nodded once, smiling at him again and walking back out the door.

She moved back towards her desk, pulling her phone out of her pocket and typing in Mary Margaret’s number with practiced ease. It was almost three and Emma knew that her roommate was just wrapping up dismissal at the elementary school she taught at on the Lower East Side.

It rang twice before Mary Margaret picked up.

“Hey Emma,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath.

“You ok, M’s?”

“Yeah, yeah, just trying to find a slightly quiet spot so we aren’t interrupted by a dozen screaming third graders.”

“Naturally.” Emma pulled out her chair, pressing her phone up against her shoulder to hold it in place and yanked her notebook closer towards her. She needed to make a list. When in doubt, Emma made lists and then, somehow, everything got done.

“What’s going on?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I’m not going to be home later.”

“What? Why?”

“M’s, I got a story,” Emma whispered, trying to contain her excitement. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, was not confined to office etiquette. She squealed. Loudly.

“Emma! That’s incredible. When? Where? Are you excited?”

“Deep breaths M’s. Tonight. The Mets game. I am vaguely thrilled. The normal guy is sick, I guess, and Killian told me he wanted me to go.”  
  
“Oh Killian told you?”

“He’s my editor M’s, who else would tell me?”  
  
“Just seems awfully personal.”

Emma sighed. They had this conversation already. The night after Killian had been promoted, Emma and Mary Margaret were having one of their patented couch nights and the two had talked about the change.

Mary Margaret was still convinced Emma was already in love with him, explaining that Emma wouldn’t have been upset about him talking to Tink if she wasn’t. Emma explained that it was simply common courtesy to not get distracted with leggy blondes when you were on your way somewhere else.

They had agreed to disagree. Then they drank more wine.

“Personal in the sense that he had to speak to me personally,” Emma said slowly. “This isn’t like some sort of favor M’s. He’s supposed to give his writers stories. They don’t want to pay me to just sit on my computer.”

“That’s probably true,” Mary Margaret admitted.

“It’s very true.”

“Well, this is good though right? Like this is a big deal?”

“A very big deal,” Emma agreed, suddenly a bit nervous.

“You can do it Emma. You’ve covered games before.”

Emma nodded to no one in particular, murmuring her agreement into the phone. “This is true,” she said. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

Mary Margaret made a noise of disapproval as if Emma was also one of her screaming third graders. “You won’t do that. It’s going to be fine.”

“You are an endless source of optimism, M’s. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I believe in you,” Mary Margaret replied simply and Emma swore her heart swelled three times.

“I appreciate that.”  
  
“I know you do, Emma. There’ll be food when you get home. Go and dominate.”

Emma laughed, thankful that Mary Margaret was around to continuously feed her. “Thanks M’s.”

She hung up the phone and sank back into her desk chair, grabbing a pen and getting ready to make her all-important list when she felt someone staring at her. Emma glanced up and noticed Killian looking at her, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

He realized she was looking back quickly and it didn’t take long for him to lock eyes with Emma. He must have seen her whole conversation. Emma hoped she hadn’t talked with her hands too much – she had a tendency to do that when she got excited.

Emma returned his smile and it felt like she should be counting this as a moment again. It lasted a few more seconds before Killian’s phone started to ring again and he glanced away.

Add that moment to the list Emma totally wasn’t keeping. The list she was keeping, however, was still very blank. She grabbed the pen again and started writing:

  1. Get to Citi Field
  2. Pick up credentials
  3. Watch game
  4. Eat something
  5. Go to presser
  6. Don’t fuck this up



That last one seemed like the most important. It was nearing four o’clock now and Emma was already too anxious to spend anymore time at her desk. She pushed the list into her bag, grabbed her phone of the desk and stood up, swinging everything over shoulder.

She could do this. She could cover a professional baseball game. Or she would die trying. Well, that was dramatic. She totally wasn’t going to die.

Emma Swan was going to get her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super delay up on updating - real life things have gotten a bit hectic - but I hope this is worth it. Banter! More banter! As per usual, thanks again for all the hits, comments and kudos. Y'all are delightful.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma tossed her briefcase under her desk and slid her arms out of her coat. She shook the mouse sitting a few inches away from her hand, listening as the computer monitor buzzed to life.

She typed in her username and password into _The Record_ log-in screen, taking a sip of hot chocolate as she waited for everything to load.

Emma was still a little exhausted. Despite the late starts to her day, Emma wasn’t used to covering games and then going to work. Not that she was about to complain. She loved every moment of the game the night before – slightly surprised “Where’s James?” and “You write for _The Record_?” questions aside – and made sure to get her questions in during the post-game presser.

She had to admit, that was a bit of a thrill at getting the chance to say, “Emma Swan, _New York Record_ ” before asking a question.

Mary Margaret hadn’t lied – there was food waiting for her when she finally got home – and Emma was thankful for it after the whirlwind that was meeting deadline. So, if she was a bit more tired than normal on Thursday afternoon, Emma knew it was also worth it.

She had filed with a half an hour to spare and there was a fresh copy of _The Record_ sitting on the corner of her desk. Emma had hot chocolate, she had a byeline, she was set.

It was going to be a good day.

Ingrid had already called her and told her that all of Storybrooke was waiting with baited breath to get an actual clipping of her story. “It’ll be just like when you were in school,” she told Emma.

Emma took another sip of hot chocolate and then took a deep breath, steeling herself to see her name in print. She flipped the paper open from the back, quickly rummaging through the dozens of other articles – predictions for the upcoming NFL draft, the Yankee game that happened the night before, high school box scores.

She was five pages from the back.

There was something to be said for seeing your name in ink. Emma couldn’t hold back the smile when she saw it.

Emma Swan – staff writer.

That was a much nicer sentence than she ever imagined it was going to be. It sent chills down her spine and even made her laugh just a bit under her breath.

Emma didn’t usually read what she wrote, knowing that things got edited once she filed and was more than content to just let editors do their job, but this time she decided to break her own rule. She started scanning through the paragraphs and stopped after the first few words, lowering her eyebrows.

She hadn’t written that.

She kept reading. None of this was her’s. There were little hints here and there that Emma had written it, but nothing that was quintessentially _her_. In fact, if she hadn’t seen her own byline Emma would have assumed someone else had written it entirely.

She felt her mouth drop open a little bit from the shock of it.

No one had even told her, no one had even mentioned that what she had turned in wasn’t good enough. Oh God, this meant Emma wasn’t good enough. That was the only rational explanation. Emma hadn’t written anything that was even remotely good enough to print. _God_.

Emma looked up and scanned the room. Everyone was doing something. No one seemed even remotely concerned that she may be having an honest to goodness mental breakdown in the corner. Maybe she should call Mary Margaret. No, Mary Margaret was in school. Emma wouldn’t do that to her.

Emma could feel the anger building up in her and she glared at the offending newspaper before landing her gaze on Killian’s glass office.

He was sitting at his desk, hunched over a small pile of papers. When Emma squinted she could tell that his eyebrows were drawn low and he looked like he was focused on something important.

He took a deep breath – Emma saw his shoulders move up and down dramatically – and raised his head up a little bit. Her gaze met his almost immediately and Emma tried desperately to look away, but could only widen her eyes in surprise.

He knew. Emma could tell. He knew Emma was mad, or disappointed, or upset or whatever kind of emotion she was feeling at that moment. Whatever it was, he could tell and she could tell he could tell.

He pressed his lips together tightly and tried to smile at Emma, but it didn’t really meet his eyes. Emma narrowed her eyes. She very suddenly knew what emotion she was feeling. That emotion was called anger usually. Emma was angry.

Killian shrugged slightly, which only made Emma angrier, as if he were saying that her article and the changes he, or whoever, made, weren’t actually all that important. Well, they might not be in the grand scheme of the world, but in Emma’s own little personal world it was about as important as it got.

Emma sighed and finally looked away from Killian, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do with the rest of her day now. Obviously her writing wasn’t good enough to print, so there didn’t seem to much of a point to anything now.

She clicked on the e-mail icon on her desktop and settled into what she was sure would be a waste of the next few hours when she heard footsteps heading towards her.

Emma pushed the newspaper farther into the corner, inadvertently knocking it onto the floor. Killian bent down to pick it up, slowly placing it back on the desk.  
  
“Careful Swan,” he said quietly. “You’re going to smudge the ink. You don’t want to mess up your first article.”

“That’s not mine,” she mumbled. Ok, so maybe that was a little bitter. Emma almost cared. Almost. She was far too angry to think rationally.

“What are you talking about?” he said halfheartedly. “Of course it’s yours. It has your name on it, doesn’t it?”

“That’s about all it has on it,” Emma said, looking up at him. He sighed and shook his head slightly, leaning on the desk. He really did almost look sorry. It would have been nice to believe him.

“Please don’t sit on my desk,” Emma continued, looking back at the computer.

“Aw, Swan, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous; I’m just asking you not to sit on my desk. It’s a perfectly legitimate request. This is my desk and I’d rather you didn’t push all my stuff out of the way so you can sit down.”

“What’s going on here?” he asked. He was still sitting on the desk. Emma had to resist the urge to push him off the side. “You’re never usually upset about me sitting here.”

“Well maybe I am now. Come on Killian, leave me alone, I’ve got stuff to do.”

“You don’t have anything to do.”

“That’s not true,” Emma argued. “I have plenty of things to do and you’re preventing me from actually doing them, important things.”

“I’m the one who would have told you to do these important things. I didn’t do that, so naturally you can’t have anything to do. So tell me, which one is it, blogs or checking your e-mail?”

Emma rolled her eyes. He was right, of course. “E-mail,” she said quietly.

“I knew it.”

“Hurray for you.” Emma raised her hands slightly above her head, shaking her fists in mock-celebration.

Killian sighed again. “Alright, enough with the attitude.” Emma raised her head and shot him a glare. He didn’t back down. “I know what this is about – it’s about your story. But can we at least talk about it like halfway mature adults instead of shooting these little insults back at each other?”

“Of course,” Emma said, sitting up straight and crossing her arms across her chest. “Anything you’d like Mr. Jones.”

Killian opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again almost immediately. He was stunned – Emma took a little joy from that. No one ever called Killian that. In fact, most of the sports staff had taken to calling him ‘Cap’ in the last few days. Like the captain of the team. Emma tried not to roll her eyes whenever she heard it.

She wondered if anyone had ever called him Mr. Jones before. Emma could tell that it made him mad though, as if he knew that it wasn’t a term of respect at all. Good.

His face was blank, devoid of any kind of emotion. He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath and placing his palms flat on the fake wood. “Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Jones,” Emma said with a sweetness that made even her want to vomit everywhere, completely ignoring his request. “I’m only trying to make this a more professional environment. What did you say; act like halfway mature adults?”

Killian nodded, closing his eyes lightly and pressing his lips together again so it barely even looked like he had any to begin with. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Could I talk to you somewhere private, Ms. Swan?”

“Certainly.”

Emma stood up slowly, making sure to push the chair in behind her as she went, and followed Killian to the corner of the floor. He was leaning up against the giant window on the wall, staring out at the view and pointedly ignoring Emma. If she glanced over his shoulder she could almost see all of Central Park.

She felt dizzy looking at it – or maybe that was the anger that was practically pulsing under her skin.

“Ok,” Killian said slowly. Emma could see all the tension in his back, despite the jacket he had on over his collared shirt. “So you want to tell me exactly what it is that’s got you acting like this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, it’s not cute.”

“Don’t tell me I’m cute, it’s not professional,” Emma said, making a face at his back.

Killian rolled his head to look at the ceiling and put his hands behind his head, tugging on his hair. It seemed like forever before he actually turned around to look at her and Emma took a step back when he finally did. His expression made her a little nervous. He looked mad. What did he possibly have to be mad about?

“I take it you saw the article.”

“You’re getting very good at this.

“Ok, so that’s it then,” he muttered half to himself. “Is it because it got edited then?”

“It’s because it got edited so much.”

“You know articles get edited.”

“Not like that. It’s like I didn’t even write it.” Emma’s voice caught in her throat a little bit.

Who was he to take this away from her? Her first article was supposed to be an event, something that would never happen again. Emma knew it was never going to be the greatest thing she had ever written or a Pulitzer Prize winner or anything like that, but she at least wanted it to be her's. This thing didn’t belong to anyone.

“You know that’s not true,” he said, only it didn’t even sound close to sincere. That voice and sincere should never be in the same sentence, that’s how far apart they were.

“Oh please, did you read it?” He nodded slowly. “Of course you did. Killian, there’s entire sentences in there that I didn’t even write! My name is on something I had absolutely nothing to do with. You could have at least let me know so I could have prepped myself for it or something!”

“Oh we’re back to calling me Killian then?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’re entirely missing the point. First of all, that was just to make you mad and second of all, it’s not about your name or anything to do with you. This is about my story!”

“Everything’s about you now, huh?”

Emma stamped her foot and bit her lip to stop from screaming. “Can you please try and be serious for like two seconds?”

“I am being serious Ms. Swan.” Ah, so he wasn’t going to stop doing that then. Alright, that was good.

“God damn Killian, I just want to know!”

“Swan...” He took a deep breath and reached out, it seemed almost instinctively, to touch her arm, but pulled it back before he actually could.

“Please, Killian?” Emma asked quietly. “I promise not to get mad, really I do.”

He laughed skeptically under his breath and Emma saw him smirk at her. She made a face. “I’m being serious!” Emma cried. “This is really important to me. I want to know what happened.”

“I told you, it just got edited. That’s all that happened.”

“You’re lying. We both know it.”

He leaned against the window, crossing his arm and ankles. “I don’t want your feelings to get hurt.”

“That’s a lame excuse. I’m a grown-up girl, I can handle some criticism, you know.”

Emma stared at him, refusing to blink. It was like he was waiting for her to start crying or something. She wouldn’t cry. Emma didn’t do that and certainly wouldn’t do that in front of Killian.

He narrowed his eyes at her, waiting for her to crack. It wasn’t going to happen. “You really want to know?” he asked.

“It was my story Killian, my very first article and someone ripped it apart completely. They didn’t even have the decency to tell me or let me know so I could change it. I come in this morning, ready to send out twenty copies to every person I’ve ever met and I can’t even finish reading it.”

“You didn’t finish it?” he asked. Emma shook her head. “The end was the best part.”

She was going to punch him. She was going to punch him straight in the jaw and enjoy doing it. Killian realized his mistake almost immediately.

“Oh Jesus Swan, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just…I wrote the last paragraph. That’s, that’s all that I meant. I didn’t mean…I mean… it doesn’t have anything to do with…”

“Please don’t say it doesn’t have anything to do with me Killian. Please don’t lie to my face like that.”

“Ok, so it does have something to do with you.”

“Just go ahead and say it Killian. Just tell me what was wrong with it. I want to know. Hell, I’ve got to know. I not going to keep getting cut.”

He nodded, like he was finally deciding that it was alright to tell her the truth. “It wasn’t good love, that’s why it didn’t make it in, or at least not the way you wrote it. I couldn’t put something like that in my section.”

Emma raised her eyebrows, not entirely believing what she was hearing. “What the hell are you talking about? It’s your section now?”

Her voice was rising of its own accord. That was basically par for the course. Emma never cried – she just yelled.

“You promised not to get mad,” Killian pointed out. His own voice had taken on an air of forced calm. Emma laughed angrily, staring out the window and taking a deep breath.

“Go ahead.”

“It is my section,” he said, pulling on Emma’s arm slightly so she would retreat farther into the corner. People were starting to stare. Emma realized she was causing a bit of a scene. So much for professionalism. “It has been for the last week and it’s my responsibility to make sure that the articles that get published in my section are up to par.”

“Are you saying I’m not up to par?”

“With that last article? Yeah.”

“Jeez.”

Emma sighed and stared at the floor, avoiding the pity-filled stare she was sure he was giving her. Emma’s rational side knew that it wasn’t a personal insult to her. But her rational side didn’t seem to exist just then.

“C’mon Swan,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch her arm again. Emma flinched back. Killian noticed and widened his eyes at Emma in exasperation. Well he could be exasperated, in fact, she hoped he was.

“You should have told me,” Emma said, “before you ripped it apart. You could have told me before it happened.”

“I’m not just editor of your article you know,” he said quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m everybody’s editor Swan, not just yours. I don’t have a lot of time to sit and go over every single detail of your article with you. It wouldn’t be fair to everybody else, you’ve got to pull your own weight.”

“That’s not even what I’m talking about! And are you saying I don’t pull my own weight?”

“It wasn’t a good article.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Killian closed his tightly and took a deep breath. “That’s not what I said.”

“I think you were implying.”

“I think you were assuming.”

Emma stamped her high-heeled foot and clamped her mouth shut so she wouldn’t say anything she would regret in five minutes.

“Swan,” Killian continued, “I know you’re mad. Getting your story completely changed around sucks and I get that, but you’re just going to have to deal with it. Now I’m your editor so you’re just going to have take it.”

He nodded once, as if he were trying to assert some sort of authority over her and made to walk away. Emma was frozen on the spot, not quite sure what she was supposed to do next.

Plenty of people had told Emma she wasn’t good at something before. But she had always found a way to prove them wrong, working harder and longer than anyone else. The seemingly perpetual bags under her eyes were proof enough of that.

She’d heard this all before, except never with her writing. Emma Swan’s stories didn’t get cut.

She shook her head slowly, eyes not really even focused on anything in particular. “No,” Emma mumbled under my breath. “No, no, no, no.”

Killian stopped and looked over his shoulder at her questioningly. “What did you say?”

“Are you trying to pull rank on me?”

He tilted his head to one side and smiled slightly. “It’s my job Swan. I’m not supposed to pick favorites.”

“Then maybe you should try to pick a lane, Killian.”

He narrowed his eyes at Emma and walked back to the corner of the room where she was still frozen still. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know exactly what it means.”

He shook his head, smiling lopsidedly. Emma felt her her stomach do back flips. Anger was a good look for Killian. It seemed every look was a good one for Killian.

Emma stared at him, glancing down towards his lips and that stupid smirk and wondered quickly what it would be like to just grab him by his blazer and kiss him right here in the corner of this office. Whoa. That came out of nowhere. Emma shook her head, trying to banish that train of thought, refocusing on her still very-real anger.

Killian lowered one eyebrow – Emma was impressed by that kind of control – and bit his bottom lip. That wasn’t helping her stay focused on the anger.

“You still there Swan? You went all glossy there for a second.”

“I’m fine,” Emma responded too quickly and she knew Killian didn’t need his own sixth sense to realize she was lying.

“Are you going to tell me what you were talking about then?”

“Fine,” Emma snapped. “You are completely driving me crazy.”

“What?”

“Pick a lane Killian,” Emma repeated. “I mean I’ve only been here less than a month – a week – and already you’ve promised to protect me, given me some wonderful assignment, passing over people who have been here for ten times longer than me, and then the next day you’re telling me I’m not pulling my own weight and ripping apart my article without even talking to me about it. None of it makes any sense at all!’

He blinked a few times, not saying anything else. Emma raised her eyebrows and smiled. Game, set, match.

“I..Swan..I”

“Exactly.”

“I’m allowed to look after the new people in my section,” he said quickly, talking faster than normal. He was nervous – good. “In fact, it’s my job.”

“I was new before this was your section.”

“Yeah, well, it became my section when you got here. You’re getting into the particulars here. Anyway, do you just want me to leave you alone, fend for yourself?”

“No, Killian, I don’t want that. But I would like to know where I stand in the overall scheme of things.”

“You’re a staff writer,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a crazy person.

“I know that. I meant where I stood with you. I can’t do this again.”

Killian lowered his eyebrows when she had said _you_. “I’m not talking about it like that,” Emma clarified quickly. “You know what I mean. You have to know the kind of reputation you have around here.”

“I know that this office is like a black hole for gossip, it all comes here to get digested.”

“Exactly! So what do you think people have said when I, brand new writer, show up with you, brand new sports editor?”

“Are people talking about you?”

“Because of you, yeah.”

“Jesus Christ, this place is completely fucked up.”

“This is important to me Killian,” Emma said seriously. “This job is important to me. That article was important to me. That article was everything to me and you twisted it around completely.”

“It wasn’t just me you know,” he said, holding his hands up in defense.

“I understand that Killian. I know there are copy editors and half a dozen other people underneath you have edited it, but you were the last one to see it. If you’re going to pull rank on me at least take some final responsibility for it.”

“Ok! Ok, so I was the one who decided against your article. It wasn’t personal though Swan, you know that don’t you?”

“You made it personal when you didn’t tell me about it.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“If you were to rewrite anyone else’s story you would have told them about it wouldn’t you?”

Killian sighed and nodded.

“I knew it! I appreciate your efforts to try and protect me, I really do. It’s scary to come into a place like this alone, so it means a lot to me that you want to make it easier. But when it comes to things like this you have to be honest with me. People are going to talk even more if you treat me different from the rest of the writers in this section.”

“People aren’t talking enough that they could talk more?”

Emma rolled her head onto her shoulders. “You just missed the entire point of that little speech.”

“I didn’t love, I swear,” he promised. “I heard you and I listened. Trust me; I don’t need people to talk about me anymore than they already do.”

“I want to write Killian,” Emma said intently. “That’s all I want to do while I’m here.”

“I know that.”

“And I want you to be honest with me too, no more of this back room talking, and editing, just tell it to my face, ok?”

Killian nodded. “Honesty?”

“Well, not like the Billy Joel song, like the actual ideal, but yeah, I guess you could say just that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Alright, well you want honesty? Not the Billy Joel song, but the real thing?”

“What are you getting at?” Emma narrowed her eyes, confused and, admittedly, a little skeptical.

“If you really want to write Swan, I mean really want it, more than anything in the world, then you’ve got to stop writing like you’re writing your column. That’s what you did in the article; that’s what was wrong with it. I couldn’t put an opinion piece in the paper for a game story.”

“It was a game story!” Emma said, her defenses kicking in automatically. She could write gamers in her sleep. The story had been done before she even walked out of the press box.

“Yeah, in the most technical of terms. There were stats and a few quotes, but other than that it was just what you thought of the game Swan. Honestly,” he stretched out the word and Emma rolled her eyes, “that’s not what people care about. When they finish reading that story they’re not gonna remember who wrote it or even care about it. They’re going to care about the final score and who hit a home run.”

Emma lowered her eyes to stare at the floor. “That’s what you’ve got to focus on,” he said, softly.

“Ok.”

Killian reached out and touched her arm again, but not to push Emma farther in the corner, rather to comfort her. It sent chills down her spine and made her wonder all over again how his lips would feel on hers.

“You’re a great writer Swan,” Killian said, walking slowly closer to her. This was the kind of thing that was confusing. One minute he was Emma’s editor, the boss, critiquing her and her work. The next he was trying to make up for it, standing a few inches away from her, staring straight at Emma as if he had never met anyone like her.

“Thanks,” Emma said halfheartedly. She took a few steps back away from him, letting her arm drop back to her side. “That’s nice of you to say.”

Killian kept staring at Emma, like a time bomb waiting for me to go off. “Swan...” he said again, drawing her name out slowly.

Emma forced a smile onto her face so that it almost hurt the muscles in her jaw. “I’m sorry about the article Killian,” Emma said calmly, even though she was nearly full with a hundred different emotions.

He lowered his eyebrows, realizing almost immediately that the moment was gone, if that was even what it was. “It’s alright, love.”

Emma nodded. “Is there anything else you need me to do, right now?”

He crossed his arms and took a few steps back from me, leaning against the window again. “Um…” he started, closing his eyes like he was thinking. “I guess, I guess you could help Will out with some stats for the boxes for tomorrow. Start with the Eastern Conference and then go from there. You’ll have to talk to him about the specifics though, I’m not completely sure.”

“Ok.”

Emma started to walk away as Killian ran his hand through his hair and pulled behind his ear. It stuck up slightly in the back.

“Swan," he said quickly and Emma spun on her heels, almost falling over in the process.

“Yeah Killian?”

He stared at her, his expression completely unreadable, but didn’t say anything. Emma waited, raising her eyebrows in anticipation.

“Killian?” Emma repeated after a few more moments of silence. Emma had never been very good at handling complete silence. It was oppressive.

“Nothing, never mind,” he said. “Go ahead.”

Emma was slightly stunned, otherwise she probably would have yelled at him for his _permission_ to leave. “Alright,” she muttered, turning away again and heading back to the center of the office. She walked over towards Will whose desk was only a few feet away from hers.

“Hey Will,” Emma said when she reached his desk.

“Hey Emma!” He was incredibly enthusiastic. Emma was no longer in the mood. She tried to smile and failed completely. This did not, however, faze Will at all. “Hey, I saw your story this morning; it was great!”

“Thanks.” Emma took a deep breath and tried to internally calm herself down. She had work to do. There was no use in thinking about what had already happened.

“So what’s up?” Will continued, his enthusiasm starting to really grate on Emma’s nerves.

“Ummm, Killian wants me to help with the stats for tomorrow’s boxes. He told me to talk to you about the particulars.”

Will’s eyes widened in either complete shock or gratitude. I couldn’t tell which. “Oh, great!” Gratitude, then.

Emma half listened to the directions, already having a general idea of what it was that she was supposed to be doing. Emma probably could have listed some of those stats off in her sleep. She didn’t have to look that up.

Emma glanced to my side when she heard Killian’s shoes starting to walk by on his way back to his own office. His eyes met hers for a few seconds as he passed by. Emma could have sworn he winked, but the seconds went by so fast that she couldn’t be one hundred percent positive.

Emma wanted to run after him and tell him she was sorry, that maybe she had overreacted, but stopped herself before she could.

Killian was her boss, this fight, which Emma realized slightly after the fact was their first official one, was a testament to that. There was no room in this newspaper, or really in Emma’s entire life, for the kind of relationship she and Killian had formed over the last week. It had to stop.

It was as simple – and as complicated – as that.

Emma took a quick breath and focused all of her attention back on Will, who it seemed was still talking about basketball statistics.

“So that’s all there really is to it,” he said, holding his arms out as if he had just explained the theory of relativity to her. “Any questions or anything?”

Emma shook my head. “None at all. Thanks Will. When do you want the stats by?”

“Three o’clock,” he said slowly. “Didn’t you hear me say that before?”

Emma’s jaw dropped slowly. Damn. “Oh sure, sure I did,” she said quickly. “I was just making one hundred percent sure. No mistakes, you know.”

Will nodded seriously. “Great. Thanks a lot Emma, there’s a ton of things here and it really makes it easier with your help.”

“No problem,” Emma said, meaning it. “Just doing what I’m told.”

Will nodded, his attention moving back to his computer screen. Emma made her way back to her desk, sinking into her swivel chair and pulling up closer to the monitor. The screen came back to life as she started to type.

Emma noticed that her copy of this morning’s _Record_ was sitting perfectly in the corner of her desk again, more secure than it had been even half an hour ago. There was no chance of it falling down now.

She felt someone looking at her and followed the feeling back to Killian’s glass office. If he was going to stare at her, he should make it less obvious. Emma looked straight at him and was met with what seemed like a sincere smile. She smiled back.

They stayed that way for a few moments, smiling at each other across the newsroom, without anyone else the wiser.

Ok, so maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to ignore him. Well, Emma, rationalized, friends didn’t ignore each other. And that’s what she and Killian were, right? Friends. Absolutely. Emma’s sixth sense was screaming at her – that was a blatant lie and she knew it.

Emma sighed and Killian’s eyebrows pulled low. Then his phone rang again. They broke their stare and Emma looked back at her computer, ready to work again. She’d look up stats until her fingers fell off and then, she was going to get another byline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the long wait between updates – real life has a habit of getting in the way and messing up writing-schedules – so I hope this vaguely monster of a chapter was worth it. I promise, really, they won't argue all the time. Thank you to everyone for your hits, comments, kudos and bookmarks as per usual. We've got out-of-office events happening next chapter and that means some big-time appearances from Mary Margaret and David. Banter for everyone!


	9. Chapter 9

“Emma!” Mary Margaret called. Again. Emma had lost track of the number of times she had yelled. She was almost going slower on purpose now, just to bother her. Almost.

Emma had gotten home about twenty minutes before, exhausted after the emotional roller coaster of the day. It was difficult to bounce back after seeing her first-ever _New York Record_ article slashed by the editing process, but she had poured her attention into the stats project with Will and when she walked out the office door nearly eight hours later, once again, noticed Killian Jones smiling at her from his desk.

All Emma wanted to was to sit on the couch, eat the leftover Chinese food she knew was still in the fridge and watch several episodes of crappy reality TV. That, however, did not seem to be an option.

As soon as she walked in the door, Emma had been greeted by Mary Margaret and David – who, Emma grudgingly noticed was watching reality TV on her couch – and told, immediately, “You need to get changed, right now.”

“Why?” Emma asked, sounding entirely like a petulant teenager.

“We’re going out to dinner.”

“M’s…” Emma said slowly. “I don’t want to go out to dinner. I’m tired. I have stared at box scores for hours today and I just want to eat that Chinese food and then go to bed.”

Mary Margaret shook her head forcefully. “Nope. No, that’s not ok.”

“It’s not ok to be tired after working?”

“Ok, fine, that’s ok,” Mary Margaret said. “But before you succumb to the exhaustion you are going out to dinner with me and David. We haven’t seen you at all this week. We’re doing this. We have reservations.”

Emma groaned and looked over Mary Margaret’s shoulder at David, still slumped into the couch, eyes focused on the show in front of him. She knew he could tell she was staring at him. She also knew she wasn’t going to win this fight.

“It’s happening, Emma,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. “You know you’re not going to do anything to change her mind. Just come out to eat with us.”

Emma groaned again, but knew she had already lost. Mary Margaret was nothing if not insistent and David was nothing if not ready and willing to always agree with his girlfriend.

“You guys are the worst,” Emma sighed.

“You love us,” Mary Margaret argued. “C’mon, go get changed. We’ve got to make our reservation.”

“You could have gone without me and left earlier,” Emma mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Emma turned her back on Mary Margaret, knowing she was smiling at her in victory and stalked back to her bedroom to find something to wear.

“Perfect.”

Emma changed out her vaguely professional outfit – another dress and blazer combo – and slid her jeans up her legs, grabbing a t-shirt and sweater out of her closet. She sighed again, but couldn’t help the small feeling of happiness that, somehow, she had found friends who cared enough to force her out of her apartment.

After pulling her hair up into a ponytail and stepping into a pair of flats, Emma walked back into the living room to find Mary Margaret and David side by side on the couch. They both looked up when Emma walked in and David quickly grabbed the remote, turning off the TV and jumping up to meet her.

“You ok there?” Emma asked.

“Great,” David responded. That was a lie. Emma knew it. David knew Emma knew it. Mary Margaret even knew it. But no one said anything about it. “Everything is great.”

“Yuh huh.”

“C’mon Emma, let’s go,” Mary Margaret said, grabbing her keys off the ring and opening the front door. Emma knew when someone was trying to distract her, but she’d let Mary Margaret get away with it – for now. After all, she had a full dinner to barrage her roommate with questions.

The three of them walked to the subway stop a few blocks away from the apartment and Mary Margaret stopped to fill up her MetroCard, leaving Emma and David standing on the side together.

“Sorry about all this,” he said suddenly, taking Emma by surprise.

“What? Oh, it’s fine. It’s typical Mary Margaret.”

“True,” David agreed. “But, you know, she’s worried about you. Her intentions are good, even if her execution leaves a little bit to be desired.”

Emma stared at David. It wasn’t like him to disagree with anything Mary Margaret ever did – this was uncharted territory.

“What are you getting at?”

David didn’t have a chance to respond before Mary Margaret returned and ushered them all onto the platform. Emma was confused. She didn’t particularly like the feeling either. She had only been at _The Record_ for a week, what was there for Mary Margaret to be worried about?

Except, Emma rationalized, Mary Margaret knew she covered that game the night before and knew she would be in the paper today. Mary Margaret also knew Emma’s writing better than just about anyone – she read every single one of Emma’s columns in college, checking for grammatical mistakes before Emma filed. Mary Margaret would have been able to tell in an instant that the story in that morning’s _New York Record_ wasn’t written by Emma.

Well, fuck.

The train only went a few stops before Mary Margaret announced that they had to get off. The trio walked out of the station and crossed the street, stopping suddenly in front of a small, dimly lit cafe on the corner.

“This is it,” Mary Margaret announced.

Emma glared at her. David just looked around sympathetically, as if hoping Emma would realize he had simply been roped into this whole situation.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Emma nodded towards the restaurant. “There isn’t a single open table in there M’s,” she said. “Also, that’s some serious mood lighting they’ve got going on.”

“Emma, you know how reservations work. We’ll get a table. And the mood lighting is just a bonus. C’mon, this place is supposed to be good.”

Emma huffed slightly, but followed Mary Margaret into the restaurant, David trudging slowly behind as well. It didn’t take long for the three of them to be at a table and Mary Margaret smiled at them as they sat down.

“This is nice,” Mary Margaret said. David laughed and Emma rolled her eyes. “It is!” she said indignantly.

“It would be better if I could breathe,” Emma muttered, pulling her chair closer to the table as she tried to put some space between her and the person next to her.

Now that Emma was here, she realized how hungry she was. In her efforts to find statistics all day, and to prove to Killian that she could, in fact, be an asset to the newspaper, she had completely forgotten to eat lunch.

This bread was delicious. It almost made the whole, awkward, completely uncomfortable and unnecessary situation worth it.

Mary Margaret looked at her smugly, a small smile on her face.

“What?” Emma mumbled a little incoherently.

“Nothing,”

Emma pursed her lips, fighting off a smile. Ah, so this was an intervention then. Alright then.

“So, Emma,” Mary Margaret started. “How was your day?

The bread didn’t taste as good anymore. Emma stared at the table. She could feel Mary Margaret and David starting at her, waiting for an answer – one a little less patient than the other.

“It was fine,” Emma lied. She was a terrible person.

“Oh yeah?”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

Mary Margaret  looked at Emma like she was about to cry. She was pitying her. She actually felt bad. David’s face wasn’t that much different. Emma felt like she was going to throw up.

Emma wasn’t a charity case. She didn’t need pity and she certainly didn’t want it from her two oldest friends. For a split second Emma seriously considered leaving. She wasn’t wearing heels anymore, she could make a fairly quick exit and be on a train home before Mary Margaret had even gotten up from the table.

That notion didn’t last long. Emma looked at Mary Margaret’s face and, suddenly, felt like she should tell her everything.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret prompted again, taking her silence as ignoring her rather than internal contemplation.

“Work sucked,” Emma said simply.

“I saw your article. It didn’t sound like something you’ve written before. I’ve read your columns, that story wasn’t the same.”

“You’re very observant,” Emma said sarcastically, biting down on a piece of the bread she had ripped apart.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I didn’t write it. Killian did.”

“Killian? As in your boss?”

“Editor,” Emma clarified.

“Same thing though, right?”

Emma shrugged. “Yeah, basically. Although you know there are plenty of other people at the paper who are really more my boss than Killian.”  
  
“That sounds like rationalizing, Emma,” David interjected. Emma shot daggers in his direction. He recoiled slightly and Emma counted it as a victory.

“It’s not. It’s a fact.”

“Is this because you kind of want to date your boss?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma groaned, something bordering close to a growl. People were openly staring now. Well, maybe if they didn’t push these tables so close together, they wouldn’t be able to overhear every word of a semi-private conversation.

It was true though. Emma was definitely rationalizing. This had to stop.

It was a crush. It wasn’t even that. It was a vague sense of interest and a small amount of attraction rolled up into one over a very short period of time. Emma knew Killian could be a bit of an arrogant jerk. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Deep down Emma also knew that Killian Jones didn’t have enough self esteem to cover the top of the pin.

Writing was the only thing he had left. He thought he had failed at baseball, so the only thing he could control was his writing. And he was going to do that, whether it be his column or his section or Emma's article.

Nothing was going to stop Killian from being perfect. Especially not Emma and her ridiculous school-girl infatuation with his incredibly good looking face and eyes she could fall into for all time and…

Nope. Emma wasn’t doing that. She wouldn’t even entertain those thoughts.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret continued. “What happened today?”

“He changed my story,” Emma responded. “Like really changed.”  
  
“Why would he do that?” David asked.

“He said it wasn’t good enough.”

“What?” David was practically roaring, going, immediately, into overprotective mode. Emma shot him a warning glance and he immediately sank his shoulders.

“He said it was too much like a column. It wasn’t a gamer. I mean, I guess so. I just could write game stories in my sleep. I’ve never had anyone say my game stories weren’t good. It caught me off guard.” Emma admitted the last part quietly,  as if she was confessing to some sort of grandiose crime spree.

Emma didn’t get caught off guard very often. She was prepared. She made lists. She knew what to expect. Killian Jones caught her off guard – in more ways than simply editing her story – and it kind of terrified her.

“Did you talk to him about it?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma nodded. “Yeah for like twenty minutes. But that was the weirdest part. He was all over the place the entire time we were talking. One second he was trying to pull rank on me and the next he was apologizing for not telling me about the changes before sending it to print.”

“He’s overwhelmed, Emma,” David said, rationally.

“What?”

“He’s overwhelmed. And I think you probably terrify him a little bit.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, confused. “Try and make a little bit of sense, please, David.”

David sighed exasperatedly at her and Mary Margaret tapped him on the shoulder, pushing him to keep talking. “Emma,” he said calmly. “Think about it for a second. He’s been promoted at the same time you show up. He’s got all this responsibility and if I had to bet, he probably didn’t want it.”  
  
“That’s not an excuse for him to be all over the place.”

“He likes you Emma.”

“He totally does,” Mary Margaret added. Emma sighed.

“So what?” she asked.

“So, I’m not saying I think he’s going about it the right way. I think he acted like an ass from what you said about his explanation for your story, but think about from a different angle for a second. He’s supposed to be out there hitting home runs – he should have been in the league for years now – and he’s stuck at a desk, not even writing about anyone’s success anymore. Just reading other people’s writing. I’d bet good money he hates it.”

Emma widened her eyes, surprise washing over her. Her gut had been right. Killian Jones put on a good show, but he was severely lacking in the self confidence department. And this new promotion was, somehow, making it even worse.

“Plus,” David, added, smirking slightly. “He’s probably never met anyone like you Emma.”

“And that’s supposed to mean?”

Mary Margaret perked up. This was her moment. She glanced over at David, putting her hand on his forearm to signal that she was about to launch into one of her patented _Emma is_ _fantastic_ speeches. Emma braced herself for the compliments.

“Emma,” her friend said slowly. “You’ve got to realize how Killian sees you.”

Emma shrugged.

“Emma, you know what you’re doing. You’re confident.” Emma tried not to roll her eyes and Mary Margaret continued. “You came into this job with all kinds of references and awards and an almost absurd amount of clips. You’re good at what you do and even this editing fiasco aside, Killian knows that. He’s trying to tread water with this new job and I think you’ve caught him by surprise. He likes you. He bought you hot chocolate.”

Emma smiled slightly. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves a lot.”

“It’s only been a week.”

“So?”

“So, people don’t have those kinds of thoughts in a week.”

“You’re rationalizing again Emma.”

Emma pulled apart on the bread she realized she was still holding. The problem, Emma realized, was that she may be having some of those same thoughts herself. She liked Killian. She trusted Killian. Even after the argument and the whiplash of that conversation, Emma believed he was the best person to lead _The New York Record_ sports section.

She also, realized suddenly, that she wanted to get to know Killian Jones as much as Killian Jones wanted to get to know her.

She just couldn’t let Mary Margaret know that – at least not yet.

“I’m not going to jump him in the office, M’s.” David nearly choked on his water.

Mary Margaret just made a face. “I’m not telling you to. I’m telling you to cut the guy some slack.”

“I can do that.”

“But don’t let him change your story again. Or I’ll call and yell at him.”

“That seems fair,” Emma nodded, smiling as she bit into the bred and waited for someone to come and take their order. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! You guys are wonderful and overwhelming with your nice-ness. I can't say how much I appreciate it. I am absolutely loving writing this story, so every hit, comment and kudos means the world to me. I'm hoping to get to a more usual posting schedule since I've got a ton written, but sometimes life gets kind of crazy, so we'll see. Thanks again for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Emma leaned against the wall behind her bed and opened up her laptop, setting the machine on her knees and shutting her eyes lightly.

It had been a day.

Emma wasn’t expecting much, honestly. She didn’t want a repeat performance of her and Killian’s shouting match in the corner of the office, but she did think that maybe he might apologize. Maybe.

He didn’t.

He barely even left his office.

Emma had glanced over at him a few times throughout the day and she could see, even from where she was sitting, the tension between his shoulders. He kept running his hands through his hair. Emma spent the better part of her Friday working on stats again with Will, thankful a bit for the mindless-ness of the task.

Her dinner with Mary Margaret and David the night before was enough to ease some of her own tension, but Emma was still tired. She’d go so far as to classify herself as vaguely exhausted. It had, after all, been quite a first week of work.

Emma squinted at the bright light of her laptop, sighing as she heard the persistent sound of her e-mail alerts. She had done her best to ignore the small _ping_ throughout the evening, but now, in the silence of her room, it was practically overwhelming. She sighed and started scrolling through her inbox, glancing at the messages.

Ingrid, likely wondering when she’d get a copy of Emma’s story, Elsa, also probably wondering the same thing, in addition to several other college-age complaints.

Elsa wasn’t Emma’s sister in so many words – she moved into Ingrid’s house when Emma was 16 – but it was about as close to a sibling as she had. Elsa was in her senior year at Michigan, just a few weeks away from graduating, studying public policy and, somehow, braving the weather in Ann Arbor. Emma could never quite understand the appeal.

The next message made Emma groan out load. Regina. Ingrid must have given her Emma’s e-mail address. Regina was Mary Margaret’s step-sister and was in the midst of planning her wedding to Robin Locksley. It was the biggest social event to ever happen in the entire history of Storybrooke and, somehow, Emma had found herself a bridesmaid.

She still wasn’t sure how that happened. Mary Margaret was also in the wedding. Emma couldn’t stand Regina – had barely been able to tolerate her while she was growing up. Somehow, Mary Margaret had convinced her not only to go home for the wedding in a few months, but accept being part of the bridal party. She’d read that one last.

Or maybe not.

The last e-mail was from Killian. Emma lowered her eyebrows and held her breath for half a moment. She would read that one last, definitely.

* * *

To: emma.swan@recordsports.com

From: scoopsicecream@yahoo.com

Subject: Since you won’t answer your phone, I have to resort to…

 

Emma,

I’m writing to you this way since it seems impossible for you to answer your phone. I know you're busy – and don't mistake this sarcasm for a lack of pride, because I am practically bursting with pride – but I wouldn't say not to a phone call either. Or your story. Especially your story. 

Even Cora asked me about.  _Cora_. Apparently she heard from Regina who heard from Mr. Blanchard who heard from Mary Margaret about you covering the Mets game and now all of Storybrooke knows and is expecting a story. So, make sure to get that newspaper in the mail. Or I'll call  _The Record_ office myself and demand they send a copy to your mother. 

Cora, of course, also mentioned Regina's wedding. I know you’re not particularly happy about the whole thing, but I promise it’s going to be fine. I’ve talked to her a few times about her plans and it really does sound like she’s thought of everything – including getting you your dress.

Regina wants to know whether or not you’re planning on coming home to get your dress size fitted. I told her that was impossible, but she said she was going to ask  _you_ anyway – which makes me wonder why she bothered to ask me at all – something about her seamstress being fantastic. I told her you could probably just send her your measurements. She didn't seem all that convinced. 

I have seen the dresses though and, I can at least promise, that they're actually really nice. Red. So, you know, that's a step in the right direction at least.  

Now, one more thing and just remember I am only the messenger in this situation. Regina asked if you were bringing a date. She needs to know for place settings and the rehearsal dinner. Don’t feel any pressure, Emma, no one will be upset one way or another, but let her know as soon as you can, ok?

I just want to see you happy Emma. There has to be someone in the city you might be able to be happy with. In fact, maybe you could find someone at work. After all, it’s a sports department. There are guys there, right? Think about it Emma, you’ll already have so much in common you’ll be able to skip over that awkward beginning phase completely.

Like I said, I just want you to be happy, Emma. I know sometimes you feel like I’m attacking you about relationships and that isn’t true. I’m always Team Emma and always Team Emma happiness. No matter what. I just think maybe someone could also help make that happen.

Make sure to send a copy of that story – I can’t wait to read it. I already bought a frame!

 

All my love,

Ingrid

* * *

Emma rolled her eyes, but knew she was smiling.

Best interests. Ingrid always had her best interests at heart. That didn’t mean she needed any extra pressure to bring home a date for Regina’s wedding.

It wasn’t her fault that Mary Margaret had a built in date for the rest of her life. That just set an impossible standard.

Emma sighed, wondering if there was anyone out there in this great big city who she’d be willing to not only spend prolonged periods of time with, but also even consider subjecting themselves to the small-town scrutiny of Storybrooke, Maine.

Her mind – obnoxious betrayer that it is – immediately conjured up a very specific image with very specific eyes, but Emma refused to even allow herself to entertain the thought. She had known him for a week. A week. And they argued like they had known each other their whole lives.

That wasn’t the way to start any kind of relationship – _relationship_ , her mind repeated mutinously.

She wouldn’t respond to Ingrid tonight.

* * *

To: emma.swan@recordsports.com

From: elsa.arencourt16@michigan.edu

Subject: Dear God, help me

 

Emma,

You have got to go back home. Soon. Seriously. This is just getting ridiculous.

Everyone is completely freaking out about this wedding and it’s not even happening for months. I’m not entirely sure I can deal with the e-mails. THE E-MAILS EMMA.

In case you need more convincing to help me, _your sister_ , make this decision, you should know that I live in a very cold environment, one I don’t think Regina would take to very well, and I can make sure that she gets stuck in Michigan forever.

FOREVER.

So really, if Regina gets kidnapped and somehow winds up in Michigan, it might actually be your fault. I’m just throwing it out there.

But honestly, Emma, the e-mails are getting absurd. Ingrid seems vaguely charmed by Regina and I’m not entirely sure how that’s happened. I’ve seen the dresses Emma. They’re horrible. They’re red. Like blood red. Which makes sense because I’m also vaguely certain that Regina is the evil queen incarnate.

At least I’m not in the wedding party. How exactly did you swing that deal? I don’t know what Robin possibly sees in her.

Anyway. Ingrid told me that you got published in that fancy New York paper of yours. I’m sure she’s already told you that she bought a frame and the whole town is waiting for an actual copy of the story. I don’t think any of them have realized that this little thing called the internet allows you to read stories without buying copies of the newspaper.

Seriously though, Emma, I really am proud of you. For everything. Staying in the city and getting the job and not listening to anyone in Storybrooke, well, ever. I know it hasn’t been easy, but I want you to know that you’ve got at least one fan in Michigan who thinks you can do anything.

So don’t worry about the wedding – or the lack of a date, Ingrid already told me – just focus on being the best. Because you are.

Call me soon. This e-mail thing is a drag.

 

Love always,

Elsa

* * *

Elsa was something else. When she had shown up with a suitcase in hand at Ingrid’s house, Emma was certain they wouldn’t get along. Elsa had been quiet – bordering dangerously close on icy – those first few months, but as she settled into Storybrooke life, she started to open up a bit and it didn’t take long for the two girls to become friends.

It was a strange feeling for Emma – after so many years of depending solely on Mary Margaret – but having Elsa in her life was as important as anything and she took to her role as quasi-big sister as if she’d been waiting for the moment her entire life.

Emma was also thankful to have another ally in the anti-Regina/Robin marriage. Emma had known Regina, almost, her entire life and she had never been particularly fond of her. Regina had gone to high school with Emma and Mary Margaret and the three girls were on definitively opposite sides of the spectrum.

Whereas Mary Margaret was a ball of perpetual sunshine and optimism, Regina was a consistent source of...well, not perpetual sunshine and optimism. Emma understood that approach to life – you don’t spend 12 years in foster care without losing some of your shine to the world – but Regina seemed to take it to another level.

She always looked angry as if she couldn’t be bothered to associate with her fellow high schoolers. Fast forward nearly a decade and she was still on her better-than-thou track, which seemed fascinating since Emma wasn't entirely convinced Regina had ever worked a single day in her entire life.

Regina craved control and that was a big part of the reason Emma was dreading this wedding. She still didn’t understand why she was a bridesmaid. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t bringing a date to this thing. If someone came with her they’d have to see her in this, undoubtedly, over-the-top affair and Emma would really only wanted to be embarrassed in front of her family.

She sighed and tried to mentally prepare herself for the wrath that was Regina’s e-mail. Ingrid had probably told her that Emma wasn’t coming home for the dress fitting.

* * *

To: emma.swan@recordsports.com

From: queenr1@modmuseum.net

Subject: Your Participation

 

Emma,

I realize you’re a very busy girl. I know that you’re out there, living in New York City and you’ve finally gotten a real job, so you have to acclimate yourself to your new situation. I understand all of that. What I fail to understand though is why you agreed to be a part of my wedding party and then refused to actually participate.

I’m sure you’re not doing this just to spite me, especially since it’s not just me you’ll hurt but also your mother. She wants you to come home. That’s why I can’t understand why you won’t make time to come back to Storybrooke for just a few days so we can finalize some details together.

It really won’t be all that difficult.

I promise.

Also if you come back to Storybrooke we can get your final measurements by the woman I hired here. I’m sure the tailors are alright in New York, but this woman really knows what she’s doing and it’ll be consistent with the other girls. All of my other bridesmaids, except for Mary Margaret of course, since she can't seem to get out of New York either, have been great since you two haven’t been here. Not all of them live in Storybrooke, but they’ve managed to commute, knowing how important it is to me.

Just one more thing before I go, Emma. Your mother must have mentioned that Robin’s family has generously offered to pay for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Well, they need to send the final numbers to the caterers soon and we desperately need to know if you’ll have a date with you for the wedding.

Honestly sweetheart it wouldn’t look good if you didn’t. Of course, Mary Margaret is bringing David, so at least I know they’ll be paired up. There’ll be a groomsman to walk you down the aisle obviously, but I think it would just be that much better if you had someone of your own as well. That way you wouldn’t have to sit alone during the reception and just draw attention to yourself.

I don’t want to see you sulking during my reception and possibly ruining my entire day. I know that may be harsh, but it’s the completely honest truth.

I think if you ask your mother she would agree with me as well. Mary Margaret and Elsa too.

We’re concerned.

Let me know if you’re coming to Storybrooke as soon as possible. I’ll have to schedule an extra appointment for you if you do, since you already missed the general bridesmaid’s one.

That’s all for now; I’ll be sending out another round of bridesmaid’s e-mails with your upcoming duties and responsibilities before the wedding in a few days, so make sure to look for that.

Don’t forget to let me know. Soon.

- Regina

* * *

Emma pulled her bottom lip under her teeth and narrowed her eyes at the laptop as if it was the machine that had offended her and not Regina.

She had so many responses, she could hardly catalogue them all. First of all, she couldn’t get to Storybrooke – not now at least – and Regina would have to just live with that. After all, Mary Margaret couldn’t leave either.

Secondly – and most importantly – how could she possibly write those words about Emma bringing a date? How could any functional and rational human being type those sentences and think, “Yes, this is acceptable. I should hit send now”?

Between Ingrid,  Elsa’s complaints and Regina’s demands, Emma had a headache blooming behind her left eye. She sighed and shook her head slightly, contemplating whether or not to just shut the laptop and go to sleep.

But that one last e-mail was taunting her.

That was why she saved it for last.

Emma hadn’t talked to Killian at all on Friday. Well, no, that was a lie. He had come out of his office late in the day – wearing, _God_ , a leather jacket instead of his normal blazer – and glanced in her direction, giving her a quick “well done” in regards to her box score work.

Well done. Like she was in kindergarten and had managed to color within the lines.

Emma couldn’t take her eyes off the last message in her eyebox, wondering if she kept looking at it if it might just disappear. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But that’s not how the world worked. The world, it seemed, worked to test Emma’s patience.

Maybe, she rationalized, it wasn’t about the fight. Maybe it was another assignment. Or a staff-wide message.

It totally wasn’t.

It was addressed only to her and the subject – Thursday – made it entirely clear what the message was about.

Well, Emma thought as she double clicked on the e-mail, here goes nothing.

* * *

 To: emma.swan@recordsports.com

From: killian.jones@recordsports.com

Subject: Thursday

 

Swan,

I’m not sure exactly how I’m supposed to go about writing something like this. I don’t know if there’s protocol for this kind of thing.

They don’t really give you a handbook on how to apologize to writers after you fuck up their article. There was no discussion on this in the “How to be an editor” meeting. In fact, there was no “How to be an editor” meeting.

This thing I’m talking about is an apology. I kind of hope you picked up on that. See, told you wasn’t going to be good at this.

I’m sorry Swan. One hundred percent sorry.

That was complete crap what I did to your article. I mean, I’m supposed to edit it – that’s what my business cards say now – but to totally rip it apart and not even have the common courtesy to let you know, that was wrong of me.

I was out of line.

And I certainly didn’t mean to make you mad. That’s the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I know you think I don’t care, so long as I get what I want for my section, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

You’re a fantastic writer Swan and you deserve to have a byline in this paper – with a story you actually wrote. And honestly, what you had wasn’t really all that bad. The writing itself was actually pretty good. Just not a gamer. Which you know was the assignment.

Fuck.

That didn’t come out right at all. I’m a lot worse at this whole apology kick than I thought I’d be.

What I really wanted to say, and the reason I wrote this whole e-mail in the first place, was to apologize for being such an ass in the first place. We’re both new here and I know I’m still trying to find my footing.

It’s no excuse and it’s nowhere near close to what you’re dealing with, but I’m kind of freaking out about this editor thing. Christ, I’ve never told anybody that and now I’ve put it in writing on the internet. It’ll never die now. Jesus. No, I’m glad you know. I want you to know.

Anyway, this whole thing has got my head spinning.

Honestly, I never even really wanted this. I just wanted to write and I got to do that with the column. I just…this whole thing kind of got thrown in my lap. You were right about the reputation; I never wanted it, but I don’t hate it. The problem is though, that now I’ve got all this extra responsibility that goes along with this position that I never even wanted to begin with.

I know it’s not a good excuse. I know how excited you were about the story and that your entire town was probably counting down the seconds until it got published. I know all of that and I’m sorry I screwed that up for you.

I never meant to do that to you Swan.

I wanted to talk to you earlier, but I couldn’t quite find the courage to bring it up again. Some sort of sports captain I’ve turned out to be, huh? I just wanted to be able to talk to you and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that in front of the entire department.

E-mail is such a cop out, but it’s the best I’ve got. I couldn’t stand letting you think I was mad and I wanted you to know how sorry I was – still am. Suffice it to say that I’m basically the biggest coward in the world. Or at least the greater New York City metro area.

Please don’t let this mess everything up, Swan. I know – _I know_ – you’ll say that I can’t think you’re fascinating or interesting or whatever other adjective I can conjure up and that we’ve only known each other a few days, but since I’ve gotten this job, you’ve honestly been the only thing that has kept me remotely sane.

I’m sorry I screwed up your first article. But maybe we could be ok? I’m picking my lane, Swan. There’s hot chocolate in it, if that helps sway your mind.

I’ll see you on Monday.

 

 - Killian

* * *

Emma stared at the screen.

Maybe she shouldn’t have saved that one for last.

Monday was going to be rather interesting. David would be insufferable if he ever read this – it was exactly the kind of sentiment he had been praising Killian for the night before at dinner. Emma wasn’t sure what to think.

That had been unexpected.

Killian Jones was far more fascinating than Emma had ever expected – and it, once again, left her feeling like she had just endured the most intense whiplash possible.

She reread the final few sentences again. _I’m picking my lane, Swan_. There was only one problem there, Emma wasn’t quite sure which lane that was and, even more troubling, she wasn’t sure which lane she had picked.

Her mind – betrayer that it was – drifted back to thoughts of Regina’s wedding and the possibility she had considered only a few minutes before. She had to put her hand over her mouth to cover up the laughter that quickly bubbled up. She sounded just a bit insane.

Even picturing Killian Jones in Storybrooke, Maine was hysterical. Emma could only imagine what he would be like talking to Ingrid and running through the paces of a jam-packed wedding weekend.

It was absurd.

But yet...no. Emma wouldn’t do it. It was late and she was exhausted and, clearly, delusional.

She shut the laptop and placed it on the table next to her bed, sliding down the pillows and yanking the blankets up to her shoulders. Emma squeezed her eyes closed, almost willing herself to fall asleep immediately.

Killian Jones in Storybrooke – Emma needed to sleep that idea off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's plot happening and exposition and all that jazz. I'm going to be very honest with all of you - I've finished writing this story and it is monstrous. It has taken over my life. So I apologize in advance because this is going to be a long one. But - I hope - you'll stick around with me for awhile and keep reading and commenting and kudo'ing because they all mean the world to me. Thanks again for clicking!


	11. Chapter 11

“You have got to tell me everything about him.”

“What is there to tell?”

“Don’t play coy with me Emma,” Kathryn said, leaning so far over her desk she was just inches away from Emma’s face. “I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Killian – talking to him by yourselves in dark corners…”

Emma lowered her eyebrows skeptically and stared at Kathryn before pointedly turning her desk chair away from the lifestyles guru and focusing on her computer.

“Emma,” Kathryn whined.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma said, not taking her eyes off the monitor and doing her best to keep her voice steady. That was a lie. Emma had a pretty good idea what Kathryn was talking about.

She assumed it had something to do with the small scene she and Killian had caused in the corner of the _The New York Record_ office on Thursday afternoon.

“You’re such a liar!” Her voice rose at least five octaves with the accusation and several people looked over, including Walsh.

Emma sighed, letting her head drop a little bit. Kathryn noticed that. She was like a hawk, circling Emma until she was took weak to object and give up all the gossip the lifestyle floor could handle.

“Kathryn,” Emma said slowly. “Calm down. You’re making a mountain of a molehill here. There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Killian aside from any other normal relationship an editor would have with one of their writers.”

It was Kathryn’s turn to roll her eyes. Emma cringed. She was not a good liar – a particularly blatant stroke of irony in her life all things considered. Everyone knew it. She couldn’t even lie about her inability to lie.

“You can tell me you know,” she said, putting on her most disgustingly sweet voice and ignoring any argument Emma had come up with.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Why would you say that?” She sounded scandalized now, her eyebrows raised halfway up her forehead and an overly dramatic hand draped over her collarbone. “I thought we were friends Emma!”

“Sure we are Kathryn,” Emma said, only half meaning it. The only time Kathryn ever managed to make it off the lifestyles floor and into the rough, uncharted territory of the sports department was to hear updates on Killian.

It wasn’t like she was overly interested in the box scores from last night.

“So then, if we’re friends, you can tell me what is going on between you and Killian. You know, like friends do. It’s a completely normal thing.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t just come down to this floor so you could see Killian in real-life?” Emma asked, slyly.

“That’s only a side benefit and you know it,” Kathryn said quickly, still knee-deep in the dramatics. “I came down here to talk to you – like friends do. Seeing Killian and that beautiful face and absurdly toned body taking control of the section…”

“Focus Kathryn.”

“Well I came down to see you, anyway.”

“And hear all the gossip of course.”

“You make gossip sound like a dirty word.”

“It’s not a particularly nice one you know,” Emma pointed out.

Kathryn only shrugged. “But not bad. Now come on Emma, stop stalling and spill. I want all the juicy details.”

“I have this horrible feeling I’m only going to disappoint you.”

“Emma,” Kathryn said, smiling. “You could never disappoint me. Now, listen, all I want to know –  no, scratch that, all I need to know, is what is going on between you and Killian.”

The problem, Emma thought, was that she didn’t know the answer herself.

Strictly speaking, nothing was going on. Killian hadn’t been out of his office again that afternoon, headphones stuck in his ears and his eyes rarely leaving his laptop screen. He had promised her hot chocolate in his apology e-mail, but Killian hadn’t said so much as two words to Emma in the few hours they had both been in the office.

Whiplash. It felt like more whiplash.

Emma realized she still hadn’t given Kathryn an answer and the reporter was still just inches away from her, waiting with baited breath for all the details on her apparent escapade with Killian last week.

Emma just groaned.

“Don’t you groan at me, you know that something is happening,” Kathryn said. Emma did her best not to flinch. “I could see it even when I walked in the door. You know he keeps looking over here? And let me tell you he is not looking at me, no matter how much I may wish he was. He’s looking at you. Look! Look, he’s doing it again!”

Emma made a face, but couldn’t help looking towards Killian’s office.

For what may have been the first time since Emma had met her, Kathryn was right. He was staring right at her – and smiling. Huh.

Emma smiled back.

There was a pile of papers on his desk – there always seemed to be a pile of papers on his desk – that was at least seven inches tall. Emma was sure he had a million and one things to do that were infinitely more important than looking at her and yet he didn’t seem inclined to stop anytime soon.

Killian winked at her, so quickly Emma wasn’t entirely sure it had even happened. She was simply grateful Kathryn still had her back to him – she didn’t notice. If she had, Emma never would have heard the end of it. Emma couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her though and, despite her best attempts to stay quiet, Kathryn managed to hear that.

“Told you so,” she said, almost spitefully.

Emma wanted Kathryn to leave.

Let Killian stare if he wanted to, she didn’t really need the play-by-play. Emma sighed again – this whole conversation was getting a little boring.

“What do you want me to tell you Kathryn?” Emma asked. “That Killian Jones, my editor, and I are staging some sort of torrid love affair right here in this very office? That we have secret, clandestine meetings every night after work and we’ve already come up with a secret code that can only be deciphered through a series of blinks across the sports floor?”

Kathryn’s mouth hung open. Emma was pretty pleased with herself. She hadn’t had to pull out the metaphorical big-guns to get someone to stop asking her questions for years now – she hadn’t been the _new_ _girl_ for years now – but she was pleasantly surprised she hadn’t lost her touch.

“That’s exactly what I want to hear!” she practically cried, jumping up and down in excitement. Emma shook her head. “I mean, what happened last week?”

“What about last week?”

Kathryn stared at her as if Emma were asking what one plus one was. Strictly speaking, she was a bit offended by that look.

“Don’t play dumb with me Emma Swan. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m in the dark.”

“Rumor has it that you and Killian were seen having, how shall I put this, a rather heated discussion in the corner of the sports floor last Thursday.”

Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth so quickly she almost choked on them. She could practically hear the metaphorical light bulb going off above her head. 

Emma didn’t even have a chance to put up an appropriate facade of indifference. Kathryn had won – and she knew it.

“Oh, that,” Emma muttered quietly. Kathryn looked overjoyed.

“So it was true!”

“You’re not making any sense,” Emma said quickly, but she knew it was too late. The damage was already done. Emma had confirmed her story without even saying anything at all. Some journalist she was. “And keep your voice down. People do work around here you know.”

“Oh I’m not being that loud. Even if I was, this is more important.” Emma scoffed, but Kathryn barely even noticed. “C’mon Emma. I know something is going on here. You two were in that corner for over half an hour and I heard it got pretty intense at certain points.”

“Yeah, what else did you hear?”

“I heard you tried to leave and he wouldn’t let you.”

Where was this girl getting her information? It was all eerily accurate. Emma wondered if maybe she had bugged the sports department, but quickly dismissed the idea. That was too juvenile. Emma was sure she had cameras instead.

Emma  didn’t say anything. She needed a moment to come up with a proper defense. Her silence, however, was practically admitting to the so-called crime.

“Did he Emma?” Kathryn pressed on.

Emma sighed. “Yes.” Kathryn jumped up immediately, but Emma held her hand in the air to stop her before she started planning the celebratory ticker tape parade. “But it’s not what you think Kathryn, not at all.”

“So then tell me what it is.”

“It was work stuff.”

“Work stuff?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s hardly very exciting.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You know that’s not what people are saying about the two of you.”

Emma’s stomach rolled and she closed her eyes, trying to fight off the dizziness that seemed to envelope her. They were talking about the two of them – her and Killian. God, this is exactly what she wanted to avoid. This is exactly what she had told him was going to happen.

 _The New York Record_ was like being in middle school all over again. Who were these people? Emma didn’t even remember the people in Storybrooke gossipping so much and that was about as small-town America as it got.

“How is that even possible?” Emma asked. “I’ve been here for a week. Who is doing all this talking?”

“Aside from the girls from the lifestyles floor?”

“Oh God,” Emma groaned.

“And then there’s editorials, they all know Killian because of the column meetings. And of course the sports department. I mean, they’re like first rate observers and you should know they are quite the reporters on the two of you. Oh and don’t forget Leroy.”

“The security guard?!?”

Kathryn nodded. “Sure. Killian always talks to him. He said he sees the two of you come in to the office all the time together.”

“This is insane.”

“You have to admit that is a little odd though don’t you Emma? I mean, do you and Killian live near each other, or maybe you’re secretly living together and you just want people to think that you meet each other in the Subway station? That would be rather dramatic and well planned.”

“Killian and I didn’t walk in together on Friday,” Emma pointed out quickly.

“Yeah,” Kathryn replied, easily. “After you had that blow-up on Thursday. Trust me, Emma, that only added to the talk.”

Emma shut her eyes tightly again. She was starting to get a headache. Maybe if Kathryn ever went back to her own floor, she could sneak away and make it to Josie’s for hot chocolate before anyone realized she was gone. After all, the promised apology hot chocolate didn’t appear to be coming any time soon.

“Are you?” Kathryn continued, ignoring Emma's rather obvious attempts to ignore her completely.

“Am I what?”

“Staging some sort of torrid love affair with your editor, Killian Jones, beautiful specimen of a man?”

“I didn’t say that last part.”

“I know you didn’t. That was my own personal addition.”

“It was quite an addition.”

“And the absolute truth.”

This conversation was going nowhere fast.

“Kathryn,” Emma said with forced calm. “I have work to do. I’m sure you have work to do too. Don’t you have a feature story to write or cute man-on- the-street quotes to find? There has to be something you could that isn’t bothering me about my non-existent relationship with Killian Jones.”

“Non-existent?”

“That’s right.”

“Then why is he coming over here?”

“What?”

Emma snapped her head up so quickly, she swore she heard something crack. She mumbled under her breath and glared at Kathryn who was too busy staring pointedly at Killian to notice anything else going on around her.

Killian was already three quarters of the way across the floor by the time Emma caught his eye. He smiled at her.

She was nervous.

God this really was like middle school. Emma didn’t get nervous over anyone – and certainly not a guy. She shook herself quickly, trying to regain some control of the situation. Emma was a professional. She didn’t need to be nervous around Killian.

That was her story and she was sticking with it.

He got to Emma’s desk in a few quick strides and stood directly in front of Kathryn, that stupid smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Kathryn had a glazed sort of look on her face. Emma doubted she had ever been this close to Killian.

“Hey Swan,” Killian said slowly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at Kathryn with a slightly bemused expression on his face. She on the other hand looked ecstatic. This was everything she had ever wanted.

Kathryn giggled, honestly giggled. Killian had said two words, not even to her and she giggled. Emma almost threw up.

“Hey…” Emma started, but she was cut off when Kathryn literally jumped in front of her. She stuck her hand out towards Killian, almost hitting him straight in the stomach. He took a step back, probably some sort of self-preservation instinct and looked at her like she was insane, before looking at Emma wide-eyed and a little terrified.

Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I’m Kathryn Gordian,” she said quickly, fluttering her eyelashes when she spoke. “I work on the lifestyles floor.”

Killian nodded his head, his expression still frozen between an attempt at a smile and foreboding. Kathryn really did look like she was going to jump on top of him at a moment’s notice.

Emma would have been scared too.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m…”

“I know exactly who you are,” Kathryn interrupted again. “Killian Jones, brand-new sports editor; the youngest in _New York Record_ history if I’m not mistaken. You definitely deserve it Killian. I’m sure you hear it all the time, but your writing is just incredible, the way you get those people to open up to you and the insight you have in your column is just amazing. You must be awfully proud of yourself.”

Emma bit her lip tightly to stop herself from yelling at Kathryn. That would have been unprofessional.

She was spitting out complete crap – well half crap. Everything she was saying was one hundred percent true, Killian was an incredible writer and there wasn’t anyone on the entire East Coast who knew more about the sports world than he did. The problem was that Emma highly doubted Kathryn had ever once read one of Killian’s columns except to admire his headshot. Emma also had trouble believing she had even given a sports writer a second glance in her entire life.

Killian looked uncomfortable. He hated talking about being editor, especially with someone he had just met – no matter how much that person inexplicably knew about him.

“Well, it was a little difficult transitioning from writing to editing all the time,” he said quietly, gaze occasionally drifting back to Emma. She tried to smile encouragingly. “But I got to keep my column so that was good.”

“That must be so much work,” Kathryn said sympathetically. Emma rolled her eyes again.

Killian never would have given up his column, even if they made him editor of the whole damn paper. Killian would keep that column until he couldn’t see straight or type.

That column was him and Emma knew it. In fact, she was fairly certain that column was the only thing that stopped him from actually going crazy. It had to be hard to edit stories about the people who had actually made it, so to speak. At least with the column he still had some sort of hand in the sports world, even if his actual hand stopped him from actually living in it completely.

He shook his head almost immediately. Emma smiled – she was right. “No, not at all. I like writing.”

“Oh,” Kathryn said quietly. “I just thought…”

“Nope,” Killian said.

“Well that’s good.”

Killian nodded politely and Emma knew the conversation with Kathryn had probably ended – a little sooner than she had wanted.

“Anyway,” he continued, looking at Emma. “I just came over here to talk to Swan for a second.”

He had his back to Kathryn, which was good because the look she made when she heard Killian’s nickname would have been enough to terrify him even more. She had her hands on her cheeks, her mouth hanging open and Emma was concerned with just how wide her eyes had gotten.

“Swan?” she mouthed wildly. “He calls you Swan?” Emma ignored her and plastered a semi-realistic smile on her face.

“You ok, Swan?” Killian asked, staring at Emma nervously. Kathryn choked on the air around her.

“Fine,” Emma lied. “Kathryn was just leaving is all.”

“What?” she asked, a little bit of a five-year-old whine creeping into her voice. “I was?”

“Yeah, I think you were.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and it may have been the first time Emma had genuinely smiled in the last half an hour.

“See you later Kathryn,” Emma said.

“Yeah,” she said, sounding vaguely like a kid who didn’t get exactly what they wanted at Christmas. That all changed the minute she looked back in Killian’s direction though – suddenly everything was sunshine and roses as far as she was concerned. “It was so wonderful to meet you Killian,” she said, accentuating every single syllable. 

Killian only looked uncomfortable.

“Oh, well it was nice to meet you too Kathryn,” he said, sticking his hand out into the space between the two of them. Kathryn looked like she might pass out.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time you know,” Kathryn continued, clearly forgetting her promise to leave from a few minutes before. “All the girls on the lifestyles floor do.”

“That so?”

She shouldn’t have been able to notice it – they had only known each other for a week – but Emma could, somehow, hear the nerves in Killian’s voice as if they were being broadcast to her in flashing, neon lights.

Someone should really do something about his self esteem problem. She should probably do something about his self esteem problem, her mind told her. Emma did her best to ignore that.

Kathryn nodded fervently. “Of course. I said so before Killian, you’re quite the talk of the newspaper you know.”

“He knows,” Emma said quickly before anyone, especially Killian, could say anything else. Emma couldn’t help but let her voice sound a little defensive, as if she was protecting Killian from something.

Kathryn stared at her, like she had forgotten Emma was even there – at her own desk. “Well,” she said. “I should really get back upstairs. I’ve been down here for such a long time, although it was all worth it of course.”

She smiled up at Killian – who was still smirking. Emma rolled my eyes.

“Nice to see you again Kathryn,” Emma mumbled, pushing a loose curl back behind her ear. She heard Killian laugh quietly under his breath and bit her lip.

“Oh you too Emma. Thanks for keeping me updated.” Kathryn nodded once in Killian’s direction, smiling with what Emma was sure was every bit of emotion she could muster and, finally, walked away.

Emma waited until she was at least ten feet away from her desk before sighing deeply and slumping back down in the chair. She stared intently at the floor, feeling the burn of a blush on her cheeks.

She could hear Killian laughing.

“That wasn’t funny,” Emma mumbled.

“Sure it was.”

“She’s absolutely in love with you, you know.”

“I kind of got that vibe, strangely enough.”

Emma rolled her eyes, finally looking back up at him. He was leaning on her desk like he normally did, pointedly ignoring the previous requests against it. For all anyone knew this was a completely run-of- the-mill scene – they probably all thought Killian was there to hand out some sort of assignment.

If that had actually been the case Emma probably wouldn’t have bit her lip so hard and her nerves wouldn’t be radiating off her body.

“Oh, well I’m sure you get that a lot,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice light. “You know, being the great big star that you are.”

He lowered his eyebrows, trying to figure out if she was being serious or not. He seemed to decide on the not – or rather that was what he was hoping – because he kept smiling. “Not at all,” he said. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen very often you know. Playing baseball for a good majority of your life doesn’t really allot a whole bunch of time for dating, as hard as that may be to believe. I don’t very often get attacked like that.”

“Was she attacking you?”

“You were sitting here weren’t you?”

Emma nodded. Fair enough. “Was there a reason you came over here then? If not to be attacked?”

Killian made a face. “Of course there was a reason I came over here. Why, did you think it had something to do with her?”

Emma laughed at the sound of vague disgust in Killian’s voice. She felt some of her nerves start to ease and the conversation almost felt easy. Almost.

She had never responded to his e-mail apology. She almost felt guilty about it. Almost.

“I don’t know why you came over here,” Emma said. “That’s the explanation I’m kind of sitting here waiting on.”

The smirk was full-blown now and Killian raised one eyebrow at Emma. He stared at her as if she might actually be crazy. “I came over here,” Killian answered, “to talk to you. Obviously. I wanted to make sure your e-mail was still working alright.”

“My e-mail?”

“Yeah. I wanted to make sure that you’re getting all your inbox messages.”

“My inbox messages?”

“Your last name is Swan, isn’t it? Not parrot?” Killian asked and Emma noticed the slight bite in his tone. That escalated quickly. She widened her eyes and waited for him to continue.

“Listen to me for a second, ok? Your e-mail inbox – you’re getting all the messages you’re supposed to be right?” he continued. “Like you haven’t missed anything, anything important? No one’s mentioned anything to you?”

Emma was well aware of where this was going – she wasn’t an idiot – but she also wanted a face-to-face apology and she wasn’t beneath making Killian work for this.

“Is your e-mail working Swan?” he asked again.

“It is.”

“And?”

“And what?” Killian glared at Emma as she repeated his words once again. She shrugged.

“And,” he said slowly. “Did you happen to get a message from me over the weekend?”

“I did.”

“That’s it?”

“What would you like me to say Killian?” His head snapped up as soon as Emma said his name and she remembered their conversation in Josie’s when he told her he enjoyed the way she said it. Emma did her best not to blush.

“I’d like,” he said quietly, “to know what you thought about it.”

“I think you could have talked to me.”

“That is probably true.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The truth?”

“I’ll probably know if it’s not.”

Killian laughed. “Fair enough Swan,” he said. “The truth is that you terrify me just a little bit.”

Well, that was unexpected. “What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you how to write...” Emma made a noise as if to interrupt, but Killian held up his hand quickly. “Just let me do this. You don’t need me to tell you how to write. You’re good at what you do Swan. They wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. But it was my first week and in some vaguely twisted attempt to feel like I was in control, I thought I need to be an ass."

"That’s not how I want to run this,” he continued. “I want to do this right. I respect you too much to cut up your story like that Swan. Or at least I should have. I’m sorry love, truly.”

He ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. Emma was stunned. She had gotten the face-to-face apology she wanted.

“You mean that?” she said softly.

The anxiety had crept into her voice without Emma’s permission and she was disappointed that she couldn’t control that better. Someday – and she hoped it would be soon – Emma wouldn’t feel like an orphan anymore.

“Of course I meant it,” he said seriously.

And Emma knew he did. There could be no doubting it with the way that he was looking at her, staring at her intently, like he was willing her to believe him.

Emma did.

“Good,” she whispered.

“Good,” he repeated.

“I think I understand,” Emma continued. Killian looked at her speculatively. Emma took a deep breath, trying to grab some sort of invisible confidence. She didn’t talk about emotions. But, maybe, just maybe, if Killian kept looking at her like she was the greatest thing to ever even think about existing on the sports floor of _The New York Record_ , she might be able to do it.

She hoped she wasn’t reading too much into this.

“Yeah, well, I get being thrown into new situations without much pre-game prep, so to speak,” Emma said.

“How so?”

“Remember I told you about how I grew up?” Killian nodded and Emma thanked the world for small favors. She hated even saying _the system_ , let alone talking about it.

“Well,” she kept talking, “I didn’t really have to after I ended up in Storybrooke, but before then I kind of had to fake it ‘til I made it, you know what I mean?”  
  
Killian nodded. “Weren’t you twelve when you ended up with Ingrid?”

She hadn’t expected him to remember that. Those were a lot of details to call up at a moment's notice.  

“You remember that?” Emma asked, whispering it slightly as if she was afraid of his answer.

Killian nodded again. “Of course I do. I listen when you talk, Swan.”

“Huh.”

What a completely absurd response. Emma winced slightly at her own lack of answer and silently vowed to become a more interesting conversationalist in the future.

“We’re good, aren’t we, Swan?” Emma glanced up at Killian and realized, very quickly, that this was a much bigger question than she had originally anticipated. He really did care what she thought about him.

And, truth be told, Emma thought quite a lot about Killian Jones.

“We’re good,” she said.

“I’m willing to resort to hot chocolate bribes if we’re not.”

Emma laughed, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t need to be bribed. I promise. We’re good Killian. Although I wouldn’t say no to just normal, everyday hot chocolate.”

That damn smirk was going to ruin Emma’s entire life. He was absolutely using that to his advantage.

“I’d be very interested in just normal, everyday hot chocolate with you Swan. Later?”

Emma’s heart didn’t flutter at the invitation. It absolutely, one hundred percent did not. “That sounds nice,” she said.

“Give me an hour or so to make my way through that stack of my papers on my desk and we’ll go. Deal?”

“Deal.”

It seemed like a much bigger moment than just a one-word response, but Emma refused to listen to that nagging voice in the back of her head. Killian only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guuuuys. You are all over-the-top nice. My head is spinning with nice-ness and clicks. As promised, this is a monster of a chapter because this is a monster of a story. I can't say how much I appreciate you guys sticking with this because I know we're still kind of in set-up/pining mode, but I really do promise it'll pay off. Any kudos, bookmark or comment is ridiculously appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

It didn’t take long for it to become _a thing_.

In fact, it almost became as consistent as clockwork.

If it was 4:00 and they were both sitting at their desks, Killian would glance up, meet Emma’s gaze and nod his heads towards the door. She would get up, walk towards said door with her head down and, a few seconds later, Killian would meet her in front of the elevators that, once upon a time, she had run him over near.

Then they’d go to Josie’s.

Killian refused to let Emma pay. It only drove her slightly insane. One day she was going to grab his wallet and throw it behind the counter.

He’d probably laugh at her.

They didn’t ever stay in Josie’s for long. They did, after all, both have jobs to do, but Killian made sure to, finally, introduce Emma to Jerry.

As Emma had expected, Jerry was quite a character. For someone who simply served coffee, he seemed fiercely protective of Killian, constantly telling Emma to make sure that he didn’t work too hard.

“He’d write all night if he had to,” Jerry told Emma one afternoon.

She couldn’t disagree.

“How did you meet Killian?” Emma asked, glancing a few feet away from her where he was standing, talking on his phone. The ringtone had practically blasted her eardrums in half when it went off in the otherwise empty coffee shop a few moments before. He had been waiting for a source to call him back.

“Years ago,” Jerry said. “When he first came to the city. He had just gotten out of a tough situation.”

Emma lowered her eyebrows. “Tough situation?” Jerry grunted non-committedly. “How so?”

“Well, it’s not really my place…” Jerry started, but Emma wasn’t one to let a good story slip through her fingers. And she had a sneaky suspicion that this one was one she didn’t want to miss. She widened her eyes at Jerry, silently encouraging him to continue.

He didn’t disappoint.

“After Killian got hurt, he went back to school, finished his degree and got a job after he graduated,” Jerry said. Emma knew the vague details of that – she and Killian didn’t walk in silence when they went for coffee/hot chocolate every afternoon. “He stayed close to Louisville then. After all, 20-something kid, going through what he was going through, wanted something a bit familiar.”

Emma nodded. “Of course.”

“So he got the job, started writing and then, as most 20-something kids are apt to do, he met a girl.”

Emma didn’t say anything. She wasn’t an idiot. She also had eyes.

Killian was good looking. Scratch that, Killian was absurdly good looking. It only made sense that other people in the world noticed. Heck, people at _The New York Record_ had noticed. Emma wasn’t so naive as to think that he didn’t have some sort of romantic history, despite his assertions that baseball didn’t allow for such distractions.

After all, he hadn’t played baseball for awhile.

“What happened?” Emma asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Jerry grimaced. “It didn’t end well.”

“How so?”

Emma never got her answer.

Killian’s source was done divulging semi-confidential information and he was back by her side before she even realized it.

“How so, what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Emma replied quickly, far too quickly to bely any sort of doubt.

“You’re a horrible liar, Swan.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

Killian narrowed his eyes in disbelief, but didn’t push the subject, simply handing a few bills to Jerry before making his way towards the door.

“You coming, love?” he asked, holding the door open. Emma nodded.

“Of course.”

Emma walked towards Killian, smiling slightly when she walked by. She tried to fight off the vague feeling of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also fueled Emma Swan and she was nothing short of curious about Killian’s “tough situation.”

“I can feel you thinking Swan,” Killian muttered, taking a sip of his coffee and shooting a pointed stare Emma’s way.

“What would I have to think about?”

“You tell me.”

“Ah, haha, I’m not your source Killian,” Emma said. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

She did her best to ignore the very obvious sag Killian’s shoulders took at that last sentence. “That’s true,” he said.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” Emma said. She wrapped both her hands around the cup of hot chocolate and relished the warmth as she felt it spread through her fingers.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. The concern in his voice hit Emma like a freight train in the middle of 8th Avenue.

She knew he cared, but it wasn’t until that moment that Emma realized just how much Killian actually wanted to make sure she was happy. It was vaguely overwhelming.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Emma said. Killian lowered one eyebrow. “I promise. Just box scores and..well home stuff.”

That second part hadn’t been part of the plan.

That plan, however, flew out the window the moment Killian had asked if Emma was alright. Well, damn.

Killian stopped walking and turned to look at her. Emma tried to keep going, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her – with his left hand, she noticed – to a stop. She stared at his fingers, wrapped entirely around her wrist and felt her stomach flip again.

“Home stuff?”

“It’s not important.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Come on, now, Swan. You don’t have to lie to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You don’t care,” Emma said before she could stop herself.

He actually looked hurt. Killian pulled his hand off her arm and stuck his hand in his pocket, taking another sip at coffee and refusing to let go of her gaze.

“We both know that isn’t true,” he muttered.

Emma sighed again. “You really want to know?”

“Spit it out, Swan.”

“I have to go home.”

“When?”

“Ummm, well not for awhile, a few months from now, but I have to and I don’t want to.” Emma hadn’t told anyone that. She hadn’t even told Mary Margaret that. She also really didn’t want to go back to Storybrooke, empty-handed so to speak, and pretend to be happy for Regina.

“Why? I thought you liked Storybrooke.”

“Of course I do,” Emma said quickly. “It’s just, well, there’s this thing happening. And old, friend I guess, from high school is getting married. It’s the biggest thing that’s ever happened in the history of Storybrooke and I have to go home for it.”

“Can’t you simply not show up?”

Emma was shaking her head before Killian had even finished his question. “I’m in the wedding party.”

She glared at Killian when he laughed at her slightly. “I’m sorry Swan,” he said quickly. “I just can’t quite imagine you in one of those taffeta-covered atrocities, forced to do the macarena all night.”

“I’m not doing the macarena,” she said evenly. “And Regina would never even allow the thought of taffeta at her wedding. Elsa said the dresses were red.”

“Elsa?”

Well, damn. No wonder he was such a good journalist. Emma was spilling her – metaphorical – guts on 8th Avenue and Killian had barely so much as even asked a question. They were more like suggestions, as if he was just softly pushing her to share more information. Emma hadn’t even realized she was doing it.

She kind of felt like she should have been taking notes.

“Elsa is my sister – well for all intents and purposes,” Emma said.

“You going to explain that one a bit more?”

“She moved in with me and Ingrid when I was a senior in high school. She’s going to graduate from college in a few weeks,” Emma couldn’t help the note of pride in her voice. It took a lot for Emma to love anyone, but when she did, she felt it with every fiber of her being.

“Ah, and I take it Elsa has seen these dresses?”

Emma shrugged. “I haven’t double checked my sources if that’s what you’re asking me.” She started walking again and Killian followed suit, glancing over at her every few moments as if he still had 100 questions on the tip of his tongue.

“Go ahead and ask,” Emma said. “I know you want to.”

“Why don’t you want to go to this wedding?”

“Jumping right into the deep end aren’t we?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. This isn’t an actual interrogation.”

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s ok,” she promised. “Regina is Mary Margaret’s – my roommate's – step-sister and like I said we all went to high school together. So I get why Mary Margaret is a bridesmaid, but I don’t really get what I’m doing there. Regina and I tolerated each other at best when we were growing up and I can’t say we’ve really kept in touch, except through Mary Margaret, ever since. I suppose I’m just cautious. I don’t want to go back there and be made a fool of.”

“That’s not possible Swan.”

Emma handed her ID badge to Leroy, hardly aware that they had walked into _The Record_ building. Killian waited for her to respond as she pushed the elevator button, but Emma didn’t say anything more.

She knew he believed what he was telling her, but she also knew, unequivocally, that he was wrong. Because if Emma showed without a date, she wouldn’t have any control over the way the entire town of Storybrooke reacted. And as archaic as it may have sounded, Emma wasn’t sure if she could handle that kind of town-wide disappointment.

The pair walked in silence once they reached the twelfth floor and Killian held the door open for her as they made their way into the sports department. Emma moved to walk towards her desk, still not saying anything, but Killian stopped her again.

“You know you’re not a fool, right Swan?” he asked. He had kept his voice light, but Emma could see how serious he was. If she was bad at lying, then he was just as bad at keeping his emotions out of his eyes.

Emma nodded. “Yeah, no, I mean, I totally do.”

Killian seemed unconvinced, but he wasn’t able to respond before he was interrupted by Will who came skidding around the corner, phone in hand.

“Cap! Did you hear what happened?” Will asked, glancing nervously between Killian and Emma.

“Relax, Will,” Killian said, not quite looking away from Emma. “What’s going on?”

“A had her baby.”

Emma could feel the smile tugging on her face and Killian clapped Will on the shoulder. “When?”

“Earlier today. Hold on, let me get the line straight – A had the baby, Phillip texted the photo staff, photo staff told city desk, city told lifestyles and Kathryn was down here a few minutes ago.”

Emma gaped at the string of gossip, but couldn’t fight the small sense of pride at this grown-up version of telephone. “That’s quite a string, Will,” Emma said. “I’m impressed you got it all down.”

“Trust me, it took a few tries to make sure I didn’t cock it up.”

“Can you say cock it up when talking about a baby?”  
  
Will shrugged. “I”m not aware of the rules.”

“Did your string of information happen to come across the gender of said baby?” Killian asked.

“Yup,” Will nodded. “It’s a girl.”

Emma swore her heart grew three sizes as she watched Killian’s responding smile. She desperately needed to get a grip.

“We should probably send flowers or something don’t you think?” Will asked. Killian was nodding before he had even finished his sentence.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said. “I’ll bring them myself later.”

“Can you do that?” Emma asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. “Won’t they be kind of busy?”

“A just had a baby, Swan, I hardly think she’s going to be out running any marathons.”

“You know what I mean. She just had a baby. She’s not going to want a horde of visitors.”

“Am I a horde?”

Well, point to him. “No,” Emma acquiesced. “You’re not.”

“Tell you what, love, why don’t you come with me?”

Emma gaped at him. “What? I hardly know Aurora.”

“So?” Killian shrugged. “Trust me, she liked you. And you can’t leave me to fend for myself when there’s a newborn in the room. Plus, you can help pick out the flowers.”

“That’s an awful sexist basis for your reasoning.”

“It’ll be fun Swan,” Killian argued. “What else are you doing later?”

“Nothing.”

“See,” he said, as if this proved his point. “I’ll pick you up at later.” He winked at Emma, leaving her standing slightly speechless a few feet away from her desk. Will just chuckled as if he was well acquainted with the persuasive abilities of Killian Jones.

“Pick me up where?” Emma shouted at his back.

“Your desk, of course,” he called back, glancing at her over his shoulder before closing the door of his office.

“Of course,” Emma mumbled.

“You were never going to win that argument, Emma,” Will said calmly.

“I’m starting to realize that,” she answered. “Tell me something though. Is this normal for him? I mean, if someone other random photographer had a baby, would Killian want to bring flowers then too?”

“Oh, A’s not some random photographer,” Will responded.

“What do you mean?”

“Killian and A have been close since they started working here. That was a couple of years ago and A was having a tough time of it.” Emma lowered her eyebrows in confusion. “They weren’t giving her assignments.”

Emma remembered what Aurora had told her on her first day, _They make you work for it_. It all made sense now.

“So, what? Killian helped?” Emma asked.

Will shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know the specifics, but he was kind of like a sounding board for her while she was at work. A few months after she got here – at least from what I’ve heard – she and her boyfriend broke up. It was bad and she was kind of a mess. That made it harder at work and Killian was just always around to listen. She and Philip got back together eventually and things seemed to start getting easier for her after that. Killian went to the wedding.”

If Emma had thought she was surprised by her Killian-related revelation from Jerry, she was nothing short of flabbergasted by what she heard from Will.

“That is...surprising,” Emma said, trying to find the best words to respond.

“Is it?” Will asked, sounding just as surprised. “Why?”

“Oh, well,” Emma stammered. “I don’t know, I mean, you just hear so much about the kind of reputation Killian has. I mean, I knew who he was before I came in to interview for this job.”

“Emma, you know better than to listen to rumors at _The Record_.”

“I’m starting to.”

“What you heard may have been true when he was playing, but Killian’s a different guy now. He’s...well this is going to sound lame, but he’s grown up. You really should go with him later, Emma. It might surprise you some more.”

Emma wasn’t sure if that was entirely possible, but she had to admit wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guuuuuys. I am flailing over your comments and clicks and I appreciate it so much. I hope you're all cool with sticking with me on this one because, I am being totally serious, this is a monster of a story. Like I'm vaguely overwhelmed by it. So I really, really appreciate every single one of you who read it.


	13. Chapter 13

He was incredibly punctual. Emma thought it must have something to do with a decade and a half spent making sure he got to practice on time. It had turned Killian into something of a clock-watcher.

The clock on her desktop had just barely hit 7:00 when Killian – leather jacket hanging over his forearm – was standing in front of her desk, an expectant look on his face.

“Let’s go Swan,” he said pointedly.

“You want to go now?”

“That’s why I’m here, coat in hand, ready to go pick out flowers with you.”

“But it’s early,” Emma said, distractedly staring at her computer. “Don’t you have a newspaper to put out?”

“Other people have a newspaper to put out,” Killian answered. “I’m the boss. I get to leave whenever I want. You’re just an extension of that power tonight. Anyway, we’ve got to go now. A did just have a baby, I’d imagine she’d like to sleep at some point.”

“Fair point,” Emma mumbled, grabbing her phone and her jacket off the back of her chair. She was more than a few feet away from him before Killian moved. “You want to go now?” she repeated his words back.

He smirked at her  – of course he did – and nodded once before following her out the doors of the sports department.

“So,” Emma started once they had made their way into the elevator. “You know Aurora pretty well don’t you? That’s why you wanted to bring flowers?”  
  
“I do,” Killian agreed, running his hand through his hair. “She’s a hell of a photographer and she didn’t have the easiest start when she got here.”

“Will said you helped her.”

“Will should probably learn to not gossip so much.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know about that,” Killian said, walking out of the building and turning down the block. Emma noticed he had started rubbing his hand again. Add that to the list of tells she was starting to form about him. “I just listened.”  
  
“You’re good at that,” Emma said.

“Is that so?”

The moment was over. He was teasing her now, a small smile dancing on the corners of his mouth as he stared at the row of flowers outside the bodega a few blocks away from the office.

“Maybe,” Emma said. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Aurora so well and her husband?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister? Or a roommate you’ve apparently known since high school?”

Emma didn’t have an answer. Or rather, she didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t make Killian mad. The answer was simple – Emma just didn’t share, anything, emotions, information, sources. It didn’t matter what it was. What was Emma’s was hers and hers alone.

“I’ve known Mary Margaret since I was 12,” Emma answered quietly, picking up a bouquet of sunflowers and turning towards Killian. “I think we should get these.”

Killian’s eyes widened, but Emma wasn’t sure if it was because of the information she’d provided him or the rather large bundle of flowers practically pushed into his chest.

“These are good, A will like them.”

“Let me get ‘em,” Emma said, walking towards the outdoor cashier.

“You don’t need to do that Swan, this was my idea after all.”

“No, I know, but Aurora was nice to me my first day and this seems like a good way to thank her for that. Plus,” Emma added pointedly. “You won’t let me pay for my hot chocolate.”

“I hardly think two dollars a day is going to break me, love.”

“Let me do this.”

“Fine,” Killian sighed dramatically, but didn’t stop Emma from pulling out her wallet all the same.

One short cab ride later, Emma found herself standing in the maternity wing of New York-Presbyterian, trying to calm down a very annoyed Killian Jones. She did her best to keep the sunflowers out of his reach as his hands moved quickly in front of him. He was trying his best to work his way into Aurora’s room, charming the receptionist as much as humanly possible.

Emma wasn’t sure he was making much headway.

Killian groaned when he was turned away, throwing one last, “But I did bring flowers,” towards the receptionist. Emma did her best not to laugh. Killian retreated back a few feet to stand next to Emma again. “She won’t let us in,” he said grudgingly.

“I picked up on that.”

“But we bought flowers.”

“I bought the flowers.”

“That was only because I let you.”

“Oh,” Emma said, voice rising slightly. “You let me?”

“C’mon, Swan, you know what I meant,” Killian answered. “You don’t need me to let you do anything.”

Emma didn’t have a chance to respond – and she certainly had a response – before another man came sprinting around the corner, nearly running over Killian in the process.

“Killian!” he yelled, looking just a bit manic.

“Phillip,” Killian replied, smiling fully. “Is A, alright?”

Phillip nodded quickly, his own smile practically lighting up the entire lobby and probably powering every electrical device in a ten-mile radius.

“Alright and better. They both are.”

Killian and Phillip were so busy smiling that Emma was curious whose face would cramp up first. She was surprised again when the two men pulled each other into a tight hug, smiles still plastered firmly on their respective faces.

“Does she have a name?” Killian asked.

“You’ll have to come in and meet her first.”

“They won’t let us in.”

“Forget them. I think I’ve got a bit more control on the situation,” Phillip said, quickly directing Killian and Emma down the hallway, beyond the watchful and rule-abiding eyes of the receptionist. “‘Rora will be happy to see you.”

Emma wasn’t sure where she fit into this whole moment, but if she got a chance to see Killian in his element like this, she also wasn’t sure she minded being the odd woman out. She stayed a step behind the two men, but it didn’t take Killian long to realize Emma was lagging behind. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, before slowing down to fall into step behind her.

Emma was ninety-nine percent certain her breath stopped for a moment when his fingers grazed along her wrist.

“You ok, love?” he muttered, keeping his voice down to avoid Phillip’s attention.

Emma nodded, her grip on the bouquet growing tighter with each passing second. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“This?”

“You,” Emma clarified.

“What about me?” Killian turned his head to look at her and Emma realized, quite quickly, that he was nervous.

Emma did her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and met Killian’s eyes. “I wasn’t expecting the so-called captain of _The New York Record_ sports department to be quite as excited about a baby.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s not just any baby,” Killian said. “And anyway, Swan, maybe this is good for you, banish some of those preconceived notions you seem to have about…”

Killian didn’t have a chance to finish his thought before Phillip announced that they had reached Aurora’s room. All three of them were silent as they walked through the door, careful not to wake the possibly sleeping newborn.

Emma smiled as she took in the sight in front of her, Aurora leaning her head back against the hospital-provided pillows, a tiny little human being lying across her body. Aurora had her hand lightly resting on her baby’s back, as if she couldn’t quite bear to stop touching her, making sure that she was really there.

It was Norman Rockwell-picture perfect and despite her smile, Emma could practically feel her heart contract with a slight stab of jealousy.

Killian seemed to practically read her mind, moving his hand away from her wrist to wrap his arm around her shoulders and lightly tug her farther into the room.

“Come on Swan, let’s go say hello,” he whispered, smiling over at her. Emma nodded, pointedly ignoring how nice it was have him reassure her.

She couldn’t think about that now.

“Hey, A,” Killian said, looking at Aurora and the newborn with a slight sense of wonder on his face. “How you feeling?”

“Well,” Aurora answered, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I did just have a baby, so, all things considered I suppose I’m alright.”

“She’s perfect, A.”

Aurora nodded. “I know. Hey, Emma,” she added quickly. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Emma said honestly. “Congratulations. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Does she have a name yet?” Killian asked impatiently.

“Samantha,” Aurora said, the pride in her voice sweeping across the small hotel room. “Her name is Samantha Reynolds.”

Phillip walked over to stand next to his wife and Emma silently wondered if anyone had ever been as happy as he was at that moment.  

“Do you want to hold her Killian?” Phillip asked.

Killian’s arm dropped away from Emma’s shoulder and he was shaking his head quickly. He took a step away from Emma and she looked over at him, her suspicions confirmed when she saw him rubbing the back of his hand.

He was nervous.

Emma felt her throat tighten. “Come on Killian,” she said – three different heads spinning to look right at her. “She won’t break.”

Aurora nodded, handing Samantha off to Phillip and smiling at Killian. “Emma’s right, Jones, come on, you came all the way downtown, at least hold her for a few minutes.”

“Don’t you want to?” Killian asked, stalling.

“I think I’ll have plenty of time for that. Take the baby Jones.”

“If you want,” Killian sighed. Phillip walked over towards him and Emma held her breath watching the newborn move between the two men.

Add this to the moments list. Actually, put it at the top, Emma thought. Because she wasn’t sure if anything would ever be more affecting than watching Killian Jones hold a baby that was only a few hours old. Emma backed away, placing the sunflowers on the table next to Aurora’s bed and doing her best to commit the entire scene to memory.

 _God_.

It only took a few seconds for Killian to realize he wasn’t going to drop Samantha on her head and as soon as he did, Emma knew he was a natural. Of course he was. He held the baby in his right hand, keeping her head cupped in the crook of his elbow and smiled at Samantha as if she really was as perfect as he had proclaimed her to be.

“Hello there little love,” he muttered under his breath, his left hand coming up to trail along Samantha’s tiny arms.

Emma couldn’t breathe.

She kept changing the same word over and over in her head –  _boss_. Killian was her boss. She’d only known him for a few weeks. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t let it happen.

“You know you’ve gotten very lucky, Samantha,” Killian continued. “You have the best parents anyone born today could have asked for. Get ready to have your taken non-stop though, little love, your mom won’t be able to help herself.”

Aurora grumbled slightly from her spot on the bed. “Alright, Killian, if you’re going to be insulting, then you can just give me my daughter back.”

“It’s not an insult if it’s a fact, A.”

“Whatever,” Aurora argued. “I’m tired. I want my baby back. Don’t you have a paper to put out?”

Killian walked back towards the bed, handing Samantha back over to Aurora and smiling at her. “I’m very in charge and very important, A, I have plenty of underlings to put out the paper for me.”

“Naturally.”

“Congratulations A – and you too, Phillip – she really is beautiful,” Killian said. Emma noticed him glance down at Samantha and maybe if she knew Killian a bit better she would have been certain that the look on his face wasn’t actually the longing she thought it was.

Or maybe if she knew him better, Emma would realize that’s exactly what it was.

“You look tired, Jones,” Aurora pointed out.

“All those underlings keeping you on your toes?” Phillip asked, his hand coming up to rest on Aurora’s shoulder almost instinctively.

Killian shrugged. “It’s getting better,” he said slowly, looking at Emma as if he were admitting to some sort of crime with her nearby. “Anyway, I’m not really all that tired. I didn’t have a baby today.”

“True.”

“Killian’s been doing a great job,” Emma interjected and all three heads stared at her again. “The whole section has been running smoothly. No one’s missed a deadline yet.”

Killian gaped at her as if she had just said he was going to be president of the United States. “Thank you, Swan,” he said quietly. Aurora just smiled, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

“You work with Killian?” Phillip asked, directing his question at Emma. She nodded. “Oh,” he said, suddenly. “I just thought…”

Aurora shot him a quick glare and Phillip didn’t finish his thought, but Emma had a pretty good idea what was going through his mind. If she didn’t know she was on the payroll at _The New York Record_ , she would have thought the same thing.

They weren’t exactly acting like co-workers.

“I told you it would get better, Emma,” Aurora said.

Emma nodded. “You did. And, you know, it has.”

Aurora smiled, closing her eyes slightly and Emma felt a bit self conscious, feeling Killian’s stare on the back of her head.

“We should probably go, Swan,” he said softly. “A looks like she’s going to fall asleep.”

“I had a baby today, Jones,” Aurora hissed.

“That’s why you should get some rest.”

“Congratulations again, Aurora,” Emma said.

“Thanks for coming. Both of you. And thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“I’ll see you soon A,” Killian said, his arm slowly inching its way back around Emma’s shoulders. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“We’ll be fine Jones,” she said, but the smile on her faced showed just how much she appreciated the offer. “Go get some rest. I bet you need it. And don’t forget to eat!”

“Yes, mom,” he muttered, pulling Emma out the door and back down the hallway to the lobby. The pair walked in silence until they left the hospital, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Emma could feel her nerves bubbling inside her, trying to come to terms with everything she had just seen and everything she had learned about Killian Jones in the last few hours.

Will was right – he had surprised her.

“You alright Swan?” he asked, repeating his words from before.

Emma nodded – again – and knew she was. He made her nervous – that much was true – but he also fascinated her and if she had to feel a few nerves to get a bit more information about Killian, it was a trade-off Emma was willing to make.

“Fine,” she said quickly.

“Ok,” he answered slowly, obviously not trusting her answer. “Thanks again for coming down here with me. I know A appreciated it. Plus, you’re clearly very talented at picking out flowers. Much better than I would have been.”  
  
“I doubt that. Somehow I get the feeling you’re pretty good at everything.”

Killian’s eyes were wide and Emma mirrored his surprise. She hadn’t meant to say that. Damn. This was going to do impossible things to his ego.

“Or,” she tried to recover quickly. “At least you seem to think so.”

Killian smirked at her in understanding, laughing slightly as his gaze fell to his feet. “That’s the only way to approach things, love. You’ve got to believe in yourself a bit more.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You want to take a cab back uptown?”

Emma shook her head and ignored the flicker of disappointment in Killian’s eyes. “Nah, I’m only a few blocks away from home.”

“That so? Where?”

“Murray and Church – or well, just about. It’s not right at the cross.”

“I didn’t know you lived so far downtown, Swan.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Emma shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Just another fact to add to the list.”

“You’re making a fact list?”

“Well, love, when you offer up so little, a man has to do his best to remember everything.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, trying to regain some control of the situation. It took a few moments to decide to do something a little reckless.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Huh?”

Emma really did enjoy catching him by surprise. “Are you hungry? As in could you eat?”

“I could eat.”

“What are your thoughts on eating with me?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Emma nodded, taking the response in stride. “What do you think about eating a few blocks from here?” She practically saw the metaphorical light bulb go off above his head.

“A few blocks? As in maybe a few blocks to where you live?

“Yuh huh. I won’t be cooking though, which is something you should probably be thankful for. But Mary Margaret is absurdly good at feeding those in need. In fact, she thrives on it.”

“And she won’t mind?” He looked nervous again, the same tension in his shoulders from when he held Samantha.

“Not at all,” Emma said honestly. She’d probably pass out from surprise, but she wouldn’t be upset. “Trust me, M's lives for these kinds of things.”

“Then that sounds nice, Swan,” he said, fingers passing over her wrist again. “Thank you.”

“You want to walk or take the train?”

“Walking is fine with me if it’s fine with you.”

“Of course.”

She set off down the block, Killian just a step behind her and Emma did her best to keep her breathing level even. This wasn’t like her. This was, as far as she was concerned, reckless. And also a little bit exciting.

She really hoped Mary Margaret didn’t pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening up and sharing friends and emotions! And I am, as per usual, absolutely overwhelmed with all of your clicks, comments and kudos. I am, basically, living on all of them. Y'all are fantastic.


	14. Chapter 14

Emma led Killian the dozen or so blocks to her and Mary Margaret’s two-story walk-up, pulling her keys out of her bag and unlocking the door.

She was greeted with the smell of dinner being cooked and silently thanked every religious figure she could think of that Mary Margaret was already home. She hadn’t even thought to double check before offering up her roommate’s dinner to Killian.

“M’s?” Emma shouted, slipping out of her shoes and tossing her keys on the table next to the door. “You here?”

Killian stood awkwardly behind her and Emma could practically feel the tension rolling off him. She looked over her shoulder and gave him – what she hoped – was an encouraging smile. “You can relax you know,” she said. “Take off your jacket. Your shoes too. Mary Margaret will have a conniption if you scuff up the floors.”

“Well let’s avoid the conniption if at all possible,” Killian chuckled.

He was in the process of hanging his leather jacket up on the hook hanging behind the door when Mary Margaret came around the corner, David not far behind.

Her eyes widened when she took in Killian, hands in his pockets. David glanced at Emma, tilting his head slightly as his lips went very, very thin.

This wasn’t exactly the reaction she had been hoping for.

Emma waved at her two oldest friends, a jerky movement that seemed entirely out of place with Mary Margaret and David. “Hey,” she muttered. “What were you guys doing?”

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret muttered quickly. Emma stared at her, sixth-sense going haywire.

“Your water is going to boil over if you keep getting distracted like that M’s.”

“I’m not distracted. I was just...occupied.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Anyway,” Mary Margaret said pointedly, conversation clearly over. “We’ve got guests?”  
  
“Oh I don’t know about that,” Killian said, finally joining the discussion. His hands were still in his pockets. “More like a stray that Swan picked up and offered dinner to.”

“Swan?” David asked quickly – no one called Emma that. It was fair for him to be surprised. Mary Margaret placed a hand on her boyfriend’s chest, working quickly to diffuse the tension of the situation.

“I’m guessing you’re Killian,” she said, walking towards him and Emma with a genuine smile on her face. Emma relaxed. Mary Margaret couldn’t turn away anyone.

“Guilty as charged,” Killian answered, offering his right hand to Mary Margaret. She took it quickly and Emma noticed that his left hand was still firmly in his pocket. David hadn’t moved an inch, still glancing between Emma and Killian with the quickness of a pinball machine.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mary Margaret said. “Emma has told us so much about you.”

There was that surprise again. Emma appreciated the look on Killian before feeling a bit mortified – almost as if she were introducing him to her parents.

“Is that so?”

Mary Margaret nodded enthusiastically. David was still silent. “Alright,” Emma cut in. “Killian this is my roommate Mary Margaret and that’s her boyfriend David. Everyone officially introduced now?”

“Relax Emma,” David said, finally speaking. “It’s fine.”

Emma glanced at him, a question on her face. David only nodded once. She felt herself actually start to calm down. “This is cool, right, M’s?” Emma asked.

“Of course. There’s plenty of food.”

“Thanks, Mary Margaret,” Killian said, sounding genuinely thankful. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at actually eating meals, so I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry,” Mary Margaret assured him. “Neither is Emma. I’ve been feeding her since college.”

“I probably would have starved without M’s at Seton Hall,” Emma added.

“Then I’ll have to thank her again for making sure you didn’t,” Killian said. Emma smiled at him, settling on the corner of the couch as Killian sat down next to her.

“Will you?”

“Well, if you had starved Swan, you hardly would be able to write for _The Record_ , would you?”

This was flirting again. _Boss, boss, boss, boss_. Emma chanted it over and over until she – almost – believed it. It was the almost that was making things difficult.

“It’s not much tonight kids,” Mary Margaret said from the kitchen. “Just pasta. But David did make garlic bread, so that should make up for it.”

Killian raised one eyebrow at Emma in question. “David is known across the greater northeast for his ability to make garlic bread.”

“Naturally.”

Emma and Mary Margaret’s apartment wasn’t big enough to hold any kind of separate dining room, so meals were generally a living room-affair, TV on in the background and plates balanced precariously on knees.

It was good for a few minutes and then the interview started.

“So, Killian,” David started, “Emma said you just took over as editor.”

Killian nodded, a mouthful of garlic bread making it impossible to respond immediately. “Yup. In fact, my first day was Swan’s first day as well.”

“So this is all pretty new for you?”

“It is.”

“And you’re good with that – all that responsibility?” Emma tried not to groan, but she did bite down a bit forcefully on the bread. Mary Margaret shot a warning look at David, but he didn’t seem to back down.

Emma had to admit she was a bit confused. David always played the overprotective card whenever there was a guy in Emma’s life, but Killian wasn’t a _guy_ – at least not in that sense – and it was only a few weeks ago that David was singing his praises.

“It’s been a lot to get used to,” Killian answered with practiced ease. “But it’s a bit easier now. Everyone’s kind of falling into their roles.”

“And what would you say Emma’s role is?”

Emma nearly choked on her pasta. Mary Margaret bit her lip and Killian simply grimaced. “She’s a staff writer,” Killian answered slowly. “One of the best ones we have.”

“That so?”

“It is.” Emma felt the burst of pride in her chest, but then she looked between David and Killian and it didn’t take long for that feeling to be extinguished. They were glaring at each other, both of their plates held lightly in their respective hands.

What was going on?

“David..” Mary Margaret tried to interrupt, but he simply kept asking questions. That wasn’t like David at all. Emma gaped at Mary Margaret who just shrugged slightly, unable to answer her unspoken questions.

“How’d you end up in journalism, Killian?”

Emma was going to kill David. She was going to kill him and then she’d never get another byline.

“I was a communications major in school,” Killian responded. “Went back and finished my degree after I got hurt. It seemed to make sense. If I couldn’t play, I might as well watch it.”

“And when did you get hurt?”

Killian tilted his head, glancing over at Emma before answering. “I was 25.”

“How?”

Emma had to put a stop to this. She just couldn’t seem to find her voice.

“Car accident,” Killian said quickly. His own voice was flat as if he couldn’t bring any emotion to the conversation. “Teammate was driving and he lost control. It was raining and they said he was well over the limit. I hadn’t been paying attention. I should have known how much he had to drink, but I’d had a fair amount myself. We barely ever got a day off in minors, so one night didn’t seem too much to ask.

It all happened really quickly, actually. I don’t even really remember the accident, just what people have told me happened. I woke up in the hospital and my hand was practically hanging off. They did the best that they could afterwards. Surgeries, more surgeries, an absolutely absurd amount of physical therapy. But it was fairly obvious I’d never play again. So I had to make it work.”

Killian shrugged and the silence in the apartment was enough to nearly overpower Emma. She wondered the last time he told that story. When she and Killian had that very first conversation, it had seemed fairly obvious that his injury simply wasn’t something he talked about.

She had accepted that she wouldn't ever get the story and Emma couldn't quite believe that it had been David to get all that information out of Killian.

“That sucks,” David said quietly, an entirely underwhelming response. Killian laughed darkly.

“It did. It still does.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It was a long time ago. And I’ve found I’m not too bad at this whole writing thing.”

“He’s really good at this whole writing thing,” Emma injected, finally able to speak.

“Swan…” he said.

“There’s no reason to try and be modest now,” she responded, putting her hand lightly on his knee. Killian placed his left hand over it and Emma could feel Mary Margaret’s eyes boring into the scene in her living room. “You know you’re good at what you do.”

“The writing part, maybe, I’m still getting the hang of this whole editor idea.”

“It’ll just take a little time,” Mary Margaret said. “You’re obviously very good at adapting.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I suppose that’s true.”

“If Emma thinks you’re good,” David continued. “Then you must be. She’s not quick to compliment.”

Emma really would kill him. She’d have to come up with something creative.

“Believe me, I’ve come to realize that rather quickly,” Killian laughed. “If I can work a compliment out of Swan, I know I’ve succeeded.”

David nodded as if that was the answer he was waiting for. Mary Margaret looked over at her boyfriend nervously and Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. Killian’s hand was still sitting on top of hers.

Of course, that was when his phone went off.

Killian moved his hand, sitting up slightly to pull the phone out of his back pocket and glancing at the ID on the screen. It was the paper. Killian groaned and Emma smiled. He didn’t want to leave.

“You’ve got to go,” Emma said, more of a statement than a question.

Killian nodded, eyes skimming the screen as a text message popped up as well. He stood up quickly and walked towards the door, something that almost looked like disappointment on his face. “Yeah, apparently there’s some sort of layout crisis that needs my immediate attention.”

“Better take care of that.”

He nodded again, turning around her to look at Mary Margaret and David. “Thank you very much for the food, Mary Margaret. I’m sorry to have to leave so quickly.”

Mary Margaret quickly dismissed the apology, shaking her head slightly. “Don’t worry. I have plenty of experience with journalists who have to get places fast. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I’m just glad to have finally met you.”

“That’s a mutual feeling,” he said, smiling. “It was nice to meet both of you.”

Emma chanced another glance between David and Killian, wondering if her friend might actually punch her boss in the face as a going-away present. He didn’t. Instead, he put his hand out in the space in front of him and shook Killian’s hand.

Seriously, what was going on?

“You better go take care of the emergency,” David said and Killian nodded. He slipped his jacket on and turned towards Emma, walking her even closer to the door and away from her friends.

“Thank you for the dinner, Swan,” he said. “It was...interesting.”

Emma grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not what I  meant,” Killian said, quickly. “I don’t mind a few questions. I’m glad of them, actually.”

“How so?”

“It means you’ve got people who care about you. You deserve people who care about you, love.”

“Oh. Well, yeah,” she stuttered. That was unexpected. “Thanks.”

Killian’s phone buzzed again – they were texting incessantly now – and he sighed, smiling lopsidedly at Emma. “I’ve got to go.”

“Go save the layout. They need you.”

Killian nodded once, fingers brushing hers and for one split second of absolute insanity, Emma was convinced he was going to kiss her. She swore his eyes dropped to her lips and she had fight off every instinct in her body not to just grab him by that stupid leather jacket and kiss him with everything she had in her.

_Boss. Boss. Boss. Boss._

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Swan.”

“Right.” And then he was gone. Emma’s head was spinning and she leaned up against the now-closed door, trying to find her bearings.

He hadn’t actually been thinking about kissing her was he? That was impossible. But then, she thought, maybe nothing was impossible today. In the last few hours she had learned more about Killian than she had in the last month.

Emma tried to process the facts – not the possibilities of almost-kisses – and was nearly stunned again. Will had been right. Killian Jones was much more than his reputation. In fact, if Emma was right, she had a strong suspicion that Killian Jones just wanted someone to tell him that he was _ok_.

He wanted to be enough. Not as a baseball star or a writer, just as Killian.

Emma already knew he was.

She was on the verge of some seriously sentimental thoughts when Emma suddenly remembered that David and Mary Margaret were only a few feet away. Then she remembered everything else that had happened in that apartment and she suddenly got a bit angry.

It only took her a few steps to stalk across the apartment and back into the living room, glaring daggers at David every time her foot touched the hardwood floor.

“Emma?” he asked cautiously.

“What the fuck, David?”

“Going to have to be more specific.”

“David,” Mary Margaret chastised. “You know what she’s talking about. What was that all about?”

“It was just a few questions. He’s a big-time journalist, he should be able to answer a few questions.”

“That was an inquisition David and you know it. In what world would you think it was ok to ask him about his hand?”

David looked properly ashamed for a moment before settling back into overprotective mode. “I was just curious.”

“And you didn’t think that was rude?”

“He didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to.”

“That was a test!” Mary Margaret exploded. Emma looked at her questioningly.

“What?”

“You were testing him!” she continued, shoving David’s shoulder with as much force as Emma had ever seen her exert. “That wasn’t cool, David. You know Emma likes him.”

“I don’t like him!” Emma yelled. That was a lie. She liked him a lot – more than she probably should. Mary Margaret and David ignored her.

“He just needed to know that Emma has people in her corner,” David said calmly.

“That’s what he said,” Emma muttered.

“What?”

“That’s what he told me before he left. That he was glad to meet people who cared about me.”

“Well, that was the goal.”

“I just don’t quite understand what your endgame was exactly,” Emma said. “Why would you ask him about his hand?”

“I honestly wanted to see what he would say. What kind of story he would tell. It was curiosity as much as a test. And I wanted to see what he would say in front of you, how he’d act with you next to him. I have eyes, Emma, he couldn’t keep his hand off yours.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged and Mary Margaret gave her a supportive smile. “I thought you liked him. You were all pro-Killian at dinner a few weeks ago.”

“I do like him,” David answered. “He’s out of his element – completely – but I like him. And he likes you Emma. A lot.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Emma wasn’t sure why she was arguing so much. Nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen. If she and Killian had a bit of a crush on each other, it didn’t matter. It’s not like they were going to jump each other in the middle of the sports floor.

Probably.

“As previously mentioned before, Emma, I do have eyes.”

“He is kind of right,” Mary Margaret whispered. Emma shot her a traitorous glare. “You have to admit it, Emma. I mean, he came here to eat. He didn’t punch David in the face.” Emma laughed slightly and Mary Margaret continued. “I do have one question though.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Why did you bring him here?”

Emma had been waiting for that question as soon as she and Killian had walked in the door. Emma didn’t bring anyone back to the apartment. Ever. Not once, not since they had moved in. But she had found herself standing on that sidewalk with Killian, unable to get the picture of Samantha in his arms out of her head and the words had just slipped out, easy as breathing.

She couldn’t tell Mary Margaret that – at least not with David sitting there as well – it was far too emotional for Emma.

So, instead, she simply shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“You know what I think?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I couldn’t possibly begin to imagine.”  
  
“I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Is that so?”

Mary Margaret nodded solemnly. “I do. I think there’s a very specific, very important reason why you brought Killian here and I know you’re not ready to tell me yet, but you will. I’m patient. I can wait.”

“You might be waiting awhile,” Emma said.

“I’ve got time. I’ve known you for a long time Emma and there is something going on. It is freaking you out – big time – but you shouldn’t be scared of it. You could use a few more friends.”

“I’m not sure that Killian is my friend,” she said honestly. She wasn’t sure what they were anymore.

“You’ve got to start somewhere,”  Mary Margaret answered, unperturbed. “One more question though!”

“One more.”

“Where were you before? It was kind of early for you to be getting out of work wasn’t it?”  
  
Emma sighed. Maybe Mary Margaret should have been the journalist. Or maybe she was just really, really good at reading Emma.

“We went to visit someone from work,” Emma answered. “She’s a photographer – her name’s Aurora. She and Killian are friends or something. She just had a baby. We brought flowers.”

“Together?” Emma nodded. “To Killian’s friend?” Another nod. “From work?”

“That’s more than one question,” Emma pointed out.

“When you’re just throwing out these tidbits of information, I’ve got to work with what I’ve got Emma.”

“I wish I had a better answer for you.”

“That’s ok,” Mary Margaret assured her. “I know you Emma. I know you’re overthinking all of this, but you brought him here – _here_ – and I don’t care what you say, that’s got to mean something.”

“I guess it does.”

Mary Margaret and David both looked surprised by her admission which considering all the pestering they were doing seemed pretty unfair, but Emma ignored it.

“Listen,” Emma said. “I’m kind of exhausted. I think I may just go watch some TV in my room and try to get some sleep. You guys good?”

Mary Margaret nodded and David looked at Emma questioningly. She didn’t say anything else, but turned towards the hallway and her bedroom. David followed her.

“I’m really not looking to talk about this anymore, David,” Emma sighed. “I know you were trying to help, but you shouldn’t have asked about his hand. He hadn’t even told me that yet.”

“I know, that’s why I wanted him to talk about it. He needed to tell you. Heck, he wanted to tell you.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Emma could you please trust me on this for just a second?” She nodded. “He likes you. More than he should considering he’s technically your boss, but he does. He wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t. He wouldn’t have taken you to visit his friend if he didn’t. Killian wants to tell you these things, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he’s as bad with emotions as you are. I was just trying to help.”

“I know you were. Thanks Dad.” Emma reached out to touch his shoulder, grunting slightly when he pulled her in for a tight hug.

“If he fucks this up, though, I will probably kill him,” David warned.

“I don’t know that there’s anything to fuck up.”

“There is. Trust me Emma.”

And with that one final – and vaguely cryptic – statement, David finally left her alone. Emma turned into her room, pulling her laptop onto her bed and settling in for a night of less-than-well-written TV.

She wasn’t sure when she actually fell asleep – a few episodes into her solo marathon – but she woke up with a start, shutting the laptop and putting it back on the table. She had dreamed of him again. Of that house in Maine and the kids playing baseball in the yard.

They were older this time. The boy was in a uniform. They were going to his game.

Emma shut her eyes tightly, trying to will the images out of her brain. Damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating - my birthday was last weekend and things have been kind of crazy-life wise, so when I've been at a laptop, it's mostly been to work. That being said, hope overprotective David and enthusiastic Mary Margaret were worth the wait. As per usual, thank you so much for every single, click, comment and kudos. They mean the world and I'm trying to make a better effort about responding to comments. In my experience, I don't ever look at comments sections (hey, guess who's actually a reporter!) but these are all so nice, so you guys deserve some responses. Thank you again!


	15. Chapter 15

The weeks went by and Emma’s life at _The Record_ had almost become mundane.

She was bored.

Sure, Emma appreciated a job – Mary Margaret needed someone to pay half the rent, after all – but she also felt as if she was just a cog in the giant machine that was the paper. Emma wanted another assignment. A full-blown story, not these stats and writeups that she had been doing for the last month and a half.

It was June, after all, and the Knicks had somehow found their way into the NBA postseason. That meant there were plenty of angles to cover and plenty of things to update the sports-watching world on. Emma wanted to do that. Desperately.

Or she might actually go crazy at her desk.

She and Killian continued their regularly scheduled coffee/hot chocolate date – it isn’t a date, Emma reminded herself quickly – and she found herself talking to him more and more. Emma told him more about Regina’s wedding and he actually _asked_ to see the photos of the dresses Elsa had sent her.

He sat next to her at her desk one Sunday morning – both of them called into the office to help diffuse a box score catastrophe – and cheered when Elsa walked across the graduation stage, nudging Emma’s arm slightly as she teared up at the Skype video. Ingrid wanted to make sure Emma could at least see the ceremony.

They texted all the time too. David teased her incessantly about it, but Emma couldn’t find it in herself to care. She enjoyed talking to Killian and that was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Plus, Emma was well aware that Killian and David texted as well. Not that either one of them would ever admit it.  

None of that talking had led to anymore bylines however and Emma had all but steeled herself to the necessity of having to ask for a story again when she almost walked into Will on her way into the office.

“Careful Emma!” he shouted, gripping his coffee mug a bit tighter than necessary.

Emma snapped back her neck so quickly she was certain she had dislocated something. She rolled her shoulders back in an attempt to realign all the bones in her spine and did her best to look repentant in front of Will.  

“Hey,” Emma said, staring down at the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“You in a rush?”  
  
“Not particularly. Just wanted to ask Killian a question.”

“You might have to wait a little while.” That caught Emma’s attention.

“What? Why?”

“Didn’t you hear the news?”

Emma lowered her eyebrows and shook her head. “Nope. What’s going on?”

“Well,” Will said, his voice slightly hushed in an attempt at intensity. “There’s a rumor going around the department that Killian is going to make some kind of announcement this afternoon.”

“Is that so?”

“Aw, c’mon Emma, you’re taking all the fun out of this,” Will whined. “You could at least pretend to be interested.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me not to listen to _Record_ gossip?”  
  
“Yes, but not when I’m the one telling you the gossip.”

Emma shook her head. “Ok, Will, fine. I will play along. What is the announcement?”

“Well,” he said slowly. “The rumor is that it’s about some sort of major assignment, something that’s going to give a certain someone a hell of a lot of bylines. They’re saying Walsh is practically salivating in his corner over there.”

Emma glanced around the office, eyes landing on Walsh’s desk. He was huddled over his computer, barely paying anyone else any attention whatsoever. She narrowed her eyes again, doubting Will’s story just a bit more.

Her stare had lingered just a bit too long, though, and Walsh realized Emma was looking at him. He looked up and returned her gaze with practiced ease, glancing up and down Emma’s entire torso. She made a face.

“So, Emma, thoughts on the rumor I’ve just so graciously shared with you?” Will asked.

“I think you need to stop listening to rumors.”

“This one seems like a fairly safe bet though. I mean playoffs are in full swing and the Knicks will be at the Garden in June for like the first time in forever. That’s a lot of bylines, don’t you think?”

Emma did think. In fact, she had been thinking about that the entire time she was talking to Will, trying to figure out a way to convince Killian that she should have a handful of those bylines.

“I know you want me to start jumping up and down or something Will, but that’s not exactly my style,” Emma said. Will’s shoulders sagged.

“Walsh was more excited than you are.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“You didn’t exactly. I just thought you might be interested in the possibility of bylines.”

“Of course I am,” Emma said, trying her best not to sound exasperated. “But I’m also not interested in rumored bylines.”

“When Killian makes his announcement later this afternoon you’re going to bite your tongue, Emma.”

“Five bucks says I don’t.”

Will’s eyes sparked for a moment and Emma quickly wondered what she had gotten herself in to. “Want to go for ten?”

“Sure.”

Will stuck his hand out into the space between them and Emma grabbed it quickly. “I accept small bills, Emma, remember that,” Will said before turning on his heels and walking back to his desk.

Emma laughed as she made her way towards her own desk and set her bag down on the floor next to the bottom drawers. She tossed her phone on the desk and sank into the chair, her mind going a million miles a minute.

She knew Will was right – there were playoff stories out there and Emma was determined to make sure she got her fair share. After all, she had put in her time. She had typed statistics until she couldn’t see straight, covered high school championships and was ninety-nine percent certain she could recite David Wright’s stat line for the season.

Emma deserved this. She just needed Killian to agree with her.

Her gaze drifted across the office, from one wall to another, until it landed squarely in the center – Killian’s very glass, very see-through office.

He was, as he usually was, hunched over his desk, a pen behind one ear and his forehead resting on his hand. When she looked at him, his fingers scrunched a handful of hair and Emma could almost feel his frustration.

She knew exactly what his face would look like too –  as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself. His eyebrows would have been pulled low down over his eyes and his forehead would have been creased because of it. He was biting the inside of his lip – Emma was almost positive.

Killian looked away from the paper, typing something on his phone and Emma realized she had been staring for an inexcusably long amount of time.

 _Boss boss boss boss_. She hadn’t needed to chant that mantra for nearly two weeks, but there it was back in her head as she found herself considering all kinds of things she probably shouldn’t.

Killian sighed again and leaned back against the chair before jumping up and pacing around the small room. He had started doing that a lot, Emma noticed. Nine times out of ten he rubbed his hand as well. Emma wasn’t certain he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

 _Boss boss boss boss_.

This had to stop. Emma wasn’t here to pine. She was here to write and that had been decidedly lacking over the last few weeks. That was going to change. She was taking control of the situation again. She’d just e-mail him first – let him know she wanted to talk.

That wasn’t a cop-out. It wasn’t.

Emma grabbed her phone off her desk, pointedly ignoring the much better suited laptop in front of her and unlocked the screen. The sound that went off when she received a new e-mail nearly gave her a heart attack.

She clicked on the app, eyebrows knotted a bit with curiosity.

 

From: [ killian.jones@recordsports.com ](mailto:killian.jones@recordsports.com)

To: [ emma.swan@recordsports.com ](mailto:emma.swan@recordsports.com)

Subject: Five Minutes

 

Emma wasn’t sure that her eyebrows could actually go any lower, but it was a weird day. She glanced back up at Killian’s office to find him looking directly at her.

He might have been standing right in front of her for how clearly Emma could see him – eyes bright blue and the hint of a smile on his face. _Boss boss boss boss_.

All bets were off – even the one she had just made with Will – when Killian looked at Emma liked that. He had a habit of putting all his emotions in his eyes and Emma couldn’t quite breathe when he did.

This – whatever they were – had developed into something actually akin to a friendship – Mary Margaret did her best not to gloat – and Emma knew that look on his face. She’d seen it more often over the last few weeks – as they started to talk more – he was excited.

Killian widened his eyes a bit more and nodded at the phone in Emma’s hands. He didn’t say anything, but Emma knew what he wanted –  _read it._

 

* * *

 From: [ killian.jones@recordsports.com ](mailto:killian.jones@recordsports.com)

To: [ emma.swan@recordsports.com ](mailto:emma.swan@recordsports.com)

Subject: Five Minutes

Swan

 

I want you in the conference room in, as the subject of this e-mail implies, five minutes. Don’t be late. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.

 

KJ

* * *

 Well, that was cryptic. Emma looked back up and rolled her eyes. He was still excited.

Emma’s mind bounced back to the conversation she had with Will only a few moments before, about playoffs and bylines and a whole string of work. That’s what this was about.

Emma’s mind was traitorous though and it didn’t long for her to come up with a handful of varying reasons as to why Killian Jones would want to get her alone in a very large conference room. If he really just wanted to talk, he could have just come to her desk.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that it took a moment for to realize she was also a minute late.

Well, fuck.

Emma grabbed her phone and sprinted towards the conference room, practically plowing over Walsh in the process.

“Where’s the fire, sweetheart?” he asked. Emma ignored him and pushed open the door to the conference room. Killian was already sitting in a chair, laughing at the state of her.

“You’re late,” he said, not bothering to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“I know,” Emma mumbled, slightly ashamed that she had let her mind get the better of her.

“Five minutes isn’t overly difficult is it?”

Emma shook her head. “No, sorry.” She twisted her foot slightly, realizing that her heel had come out of her shoe a bit in her desperation to make it to the conference room on time. Emma leaned back against the wall, lifting her foot up to reach her hand, trying to push the flat back on without falling over in the process.

Killian was straight up laughing at her now. Emma glared at him, still not able to get her shoe back on. This was absurd.

“What are you doing?” he asked, gasping a bit for air.

“My shoe came off,” Emma hissed. “Because I was trying to get here on time.”

“I refuse to accept responsibility for that Swan. I said five minutes, you were the one who couldn’t get here quickly enough.”

“Well give me two more seconds to get my shoe back on and then you can talk my ear off if you want.”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

“Because that would be too easy.”

Killian sighed, halfway between dismay and amusement. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Sit down.”

Emma reached out to grab onto his hand as he led her to a chair, hopping slightly and losing her shoe again in the process. She slumped down in the chair, slightly embarrassed. This had reached cartoon-levels of absurdity.

Killian leaned over and grabbed Emma’s shoe, examining it slightly. “You just going to stare at it, or are you going to give me back my shoe?” When in doubt, Emma fell back to sarcasm.

Killian blinked once, staring at her heel. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Emma thought he would simply hand it back to, but Killian never ceased to surprise her. He actually knelt down and slid the back onto her foot, making sure that it stayed there this time. Emma practically stopped breathing.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

The silence of the conference room was a stark reminder of just how ridiculous this relationship was between them. It was also another moment to add to that list Emma wasn’t keeping. He was doing it again – that thing he did with his eyes – like he was willing Emma to try and understand him.

It was overwhelming. Emma cleared her throat and looked away, staring out one of the half a dozen windows that made up the wall.

“So?” she said, her voice cracking slightly. "What's the matter?"

“Oh nothing’s the matter,” he said, taking a few steps away from Emma and leaning against the window again.

“Then what’s going on?”

“I’m assuming you’ve heard the rumor.”

“The rumor about your great, big, important story announcement?” Emma asked. “Will told me on my way in.”

“Well,” Killian said, “for what may be the first time in the history of this entire newspaper the rumors are true.”

“For real?”

“For real,” he chuckled, pulling out the seat next to Emma and sitting down. He ran his hand through his hair and leaned over, smiling up at her from underneath his eyelashes.

 _Boss boss boss boss_.

“There’s a ridiculous amount of ways we can cover these playoffs, Swan,” he said, his voice starting to speed up. She had been right – he was excited. He wanted to do this right. “This is big and I think, if we do this right, then we can have the best coverage out there. Even against the national outlets.”

Emma nodded slowly. She didn’t even dare to hope for what might come next. “Yuh huh,” she said noncommittally.

“Swan,” he said pointedly. “I’m telling you this for a reason, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Of course.” He stood back up and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest lightly. “Obviously Victor will take the lead on the gamers – it’s his beat – but I want to go all out on this. The Knicks haven’t had a playoff series in a long time and we need to attack from every angle. I want a feature every day on someone or something or some aspect of the team that you can’t get anywhere else. And I want us to be all over this on social media. The works, Swan, twitter, Facebook, live chats. Hell, we could even do some video maybe.”

Emma was in awe. He was ridiculously good at this. For someone who had always believed their future was on a baseball field with a bat in his hand, Killian Jones knew exactly what fans wanted to read in their newspapers.

And now that he was in charge he was going to make sure they got it.

“Those are all great ideas, Killian,” she said, meaning every word.

“You see where I’m going with this?”

“Sure.”

“Swan.” Emma shrugged, waiting for him to continue. “I want you to do it, love. All of it. The features, the social media, the videos if we decide to get particularly crazy.”

“All of it?” Emma gasped.

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Seriously?”

“One hundred percent leaves little room for doubt.”

“Oh my God.”

“That’s good then?”

Emma stood up quickly, almost losing her balance in the process. Killian reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, steadying her. He held on to her even after she was standing up. “That’s incredible!”

Killian's smile was blinding, his eyes wide with his excitement. “Don’t screw this up Swan,” he said, his eyes full of every emotion Emma was feeling herself.

“I promise,” she said quickly. Emma didn’t realize she was moving until she was halfway through the motion, jumping up and throwing her arms around Killian’s neck, hugging him.

He was only caught off guard for a moment. Then he let go of his hold on Emma’s forearm and wrapped his own arms around her waist, holding her tightly against him.

It took about two seconds before Emma’s mind caught up with the rest of her body and she backed away as quickly as she possibly could, taking a few extra steps to put some space between her and Killian.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the stories – and the videos, _God_ , she had never done video reports before – and how this was a good thing. A _fantastic_ thing. A thing that did not require her to actually stand up and hug Killian Jones. Her _boss_.

Emma could feel Killian staring at her and found he was still smiling when she finally looked up.

“You deserve it,” he said, keeping his voice light, but Emma knew he was serious. Her claim to fame was being able to tell when people were lying after all and Killian wasn’t lying.

“You think?”

“Swan,” he rolled his eyes. “I know. The stories you’ve done since, well, since the first time, have been really good. You’ve got this ability to make it so the game is right in front of you – even when you’re reading about it – and that’s exactly what I want for this coverage. That’s exactly what people want in their paper. You can’t get that anywhere else.”

It was the longest Killian had talked about Emma’s work since she had gotten to _The Record_ and it caught her a bit off guard. That was one heck of a compliment.

“Thank you for this Killian,” Emma said seriously.

He nodded. “Like I said, you deserve it. Game one’s on Friday, so you know, clear your schedule and what not.”

“I can do that.” Emma smiled again, her mind already running with possibilities. Player features, one on one interviews, fan pieces – she could see it all. This could work. “You know,” she added, pulling on the door to the conference room and pointedly ignoring the several pairs of eyes that were watching her. “People are going to be upset that you didn’t make some great, big announcement in front of the entire department. I think they were all kind of expecting that.”

“Ah, well,” Killian said, laughing. “Sometimes it’s good to keep them guessing.”

Emma nodded once, smiling at Killian as she walked out the door and started to make her way back to her desk. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started typing a text to Mary Margaret – still very much in school and very much surrounded by third graders – that they were going to buy the _fancy_ wine later.

Emma was going to celebrate. And then she was going to work her ass off.

She – almost – didn’t care about the talk that would spread across the office after news broke that Killian had given her the stories. She – almost – didn’t care what people thought. She’d just write until her hands fell off and prove every single one of them wrong.

This wasn’t a favor. This was a job and Emma was going to work.

She was nearly back to her desk, eyes still trained on her phone when she noticed a person standing her way. Walsh was standing a few feet in front of her desk, arms crossed and a glare etched on his face.

“Can I help you?” Emma asked, stuffing her phone in her back pocket.

“You think you’re so good don’t you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Going back to my desk?” Emma asked.

“Don’t play coy with me sweetheart, I’ve seen every trick in the book and used most of them myself. I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You and Jones – in that conference room together. I know what’s going on, I’ve got eyes.”

“Obviously not.” Emma made another move to get around him and failed again. She sighed and crossed her arms, her anger starting to take control.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, like you’re the best thing about this sports section. I read your columns from college. Adorable. ‘You Play Ball like a Girl.’ Did you come up with that title yourself or did you have someone higher up do the dirty work for you then too?”

Emma’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Trust me I do. And I know that you didn’t deserve that playoff beat. You’ve barely even been here and the whole time you’ve been making eyes at Jones. Trust me, sweetheart you aren’t fooling anyone.”

“You’re completely out of line,” Emma said, venom in her voice. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

“I know what you’re playing at, don’t think I don’t. Well go ahead and do it. I don’t care about Jones, you can play him all you want. But this won’t last forever. Eventually he’ll pick up on it too. You can’t skate by just by promising to get him off. Eventually you have to be able to write too.”

“Are you serious? Go back to your desk Walsh, I don’t have time for this.”

“Unless of course, you’d like to get me off too,” he added, before turning to walk away. “Then feel free.”

He left Emma alone with that final, disgusting thought and strode back across the office as if he had done exactly what he set out to do. Emma realized her right hand had unconsciously balled into a fist and she had to take a few steadying breaths to make sure she didn’t follow behind him and deck him.

She could – she just didn’t need an assault charge at work.

This wasn’t the first time Emma had dealt with something like this at work. Plenty of writers assumed she worked in sports because she was looking for a guy. Or because she was just waiting for another job to open up. Once a guy had asked her “What she really wanted to be doing? Shouldn’t you be writing music and movie reviews or something?”

Her personal favorite was a photographer at her very first job who asked her how she interviewed an Australian basketball player without “fawning over his accent?”

But this was a whole other level.

Emma might actually be sick. She should tell someone. She should. She wouldn’t.

Walsh was too much of a coward to make good on any kind of veiled threat and Emma was too busy to care what he thought about her.

Emma looked up and saw Killian was back in his office, pacing again. She was going to take this assignment by its metaphorical horns and wreck it – with talent. Or something. She really needed to work on her pep talks.

She had the story though and, for right now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on sticking to a more strict updating schedule – but I am the worst and I get distracted by life because life regularly has me going 800 different directions at once while also trying to transcribe quotes. So I appreciate all of your patience with me. And, in case anyone was wondering about Walsh and that conversation – that kind of stuff absolutely happens. Has happened, in fact. So while it may seem horrible, it's totally real and people can be the worst. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Knicks storyline! Professional things are happening!
> 
> As always thank you to everyone for every click, comment and kudo. You guys are the best and I appreciate it so much!


	16. Chapter 16

It didn’t take long for Emma to realize – again – how much she loved her job.

She’d been doing this for years, wasn’t really sure if she was qualified to do anything else, but Emma always got a very specific adrenaline rush when she got an interview.

She had been getting that very specific adrenaline rush several times a day over the last week.

Emma had spent the better part of her day after Killian had given her the assignment brainstorming ideas and she was close to bursting with different angles to take the coverage. He reacted perfectly to everyone of her ideas, nodding when he was supposed to and adding a few suggestions when Emma stopped to breathe.

He had given her phone numbers – he had given her his _sources_. In journalistic-speak that was about as big a step as you could possibly take with someone and Emma felt her head spin at even the thought of it.

She did her best not think about it.

Instead, she wrote. And wrote. And wrote more.

She had basically set up residence at Madison Square Garden, starting to recognize the faces of the security guards who stared at her every time she walked courtside.

Emma didn’t care.

She was getting stories and retweets and – she had to admit – a bit of a following. Her Twitter follower count had practically doubled in the last seven days and while some of the mentions weren't ideal – far too many _hot_ and _what do girls know about the NBA_ for her liking – they were drowned out by the obvious success this whole endeavor was.

Emma was thrilled. Killian was thrilled. And celebratory hot chocolate was due.

They hadn’t been in Josie’s since the series started and Emma was actually a bit surprised when her computer clock informed her it was 4:00 and Killian was in front of her desk.

“Swan?” he asked.

“Killian,” she replied patiently. “What are you doing?”  
  
“It’s 4:00,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

“Oh," she said, still staring at her computer. “Is it?”

“Swan,” he repeated. His voice didn’t sound quite as patient anymore and Emma finally looked up at him. _God_ that stupid smirk. “It’s 4:00.”

“You have time for that?”

“Do you?”

“I could.”

“Then I’ve got time for that.” The smirk was a full-blown smile and Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You deserve some hot chocolate.”

“Lead the way.”

Killian chuckled and took a step back, allowing Emma to walk around her desk and the two of them left _The Record_ office together for the first time in a week. Neither one of them noticed the stares that followed them out the door.

It only took a few minutes to get to Josie’s, which was surprisingly busy for quite possibly the first time in its entire history. They actually had to wait in line. Emma shifted her weight between her feet while she waited, eyes trained on the floor while Killian replied to yet another e-mail on his phone. The notification went off three more times while he was typing.

“Busy guy,” Emma muttered, mostly to herself, but Killian heard her. Of course.

“It’s the higher-ups,” he said in explanation, rolling his eyes.

“Everything ok?” Emma had been around journalism long enough to know that e-mails from anyone higher up the metaphorical food chain than you was enough to give pause. Most of those higher-ups had been in the industry for decades and were, still, having trouble coming to terms with the evolutions of reporting.

Emma understood the eye roll. She hadn’t expected to be wrong, however.

“Oh, no, nothing bad,” Killian said quickly, taking a step forward as the line moved. “Good, actually, which is a nice change of pace.”

“Good?”

“They love you,” he said simply. They had reached the counter and were face to face with a very stressed out Jerry who seemed to sigh just a bit when he caught sight of Emma and Killian.

“Guys,” Jerry said quickly. “The usual.”

Emma nodded and Killian smiled reassuringly. “Thanks, Jerry,” she said.

She didn’t say anything else, her mind running away with possibilities as to what _they love you_ meant. She had a million questions ready, but held all of them back, waiting for Killian to explain.

Jerry came back and handed Emma the two cups, glancing towards Killian to pay. Emma did roll her eyes at that.

“Thanks,” she said again and Jerry simply nodded, glancing nervously at the still-long line behind them. They walked back out onto the sidewalk and Emma realized that Killian was having a hard time balancing his coffee cup and phone, still trying to answer e-mails.

“Give me that,” she sighed, taking the cup out of his hand before he could object. “Answer your e-mail.”

“Thanks Swan,” he muttered distractedly, typing for a few more moments before sticking his phone in his jacket pocket and looking back at her. “I think you’ve got a fan club on the top floor, love.”

“What?”

“Those higher-ups I mentioned? They love you. Isaac, Sydney, even George. George can barely even tolerate his own family and he’s obsessed with you.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, waiting for the punchline. “I don’t get it.”

“They think you’re a good writer, Swan,” he said. “In fact, they think you’re a fantastic writer. They won’t stop e-mailing me about the playoff coverage. It’s killing my phone battery.”

“I’m sorry about your phone battery.”

“Just goes to show I should really buy one of those portable charger things,” he said, smiling at her as he handed over his _Record_ ID to Leroy. “I’m willing to suffer through multiple charges so that I can read all those e-mails heaping praise upon you though. They’re all right.”

“All of this was your idea.”

“No it wasn’t,” he said, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “These were all your ideas Swan. And they’re great. Have you seen the numbers?” Emma shook her head. “They don’t make any sense. _The Record_ hasn’t seen those kinds of numbers in years. The online numbers are through the roof – you’re driving some serious hits, love – but even in print. There’s not really anyway to prove it’s all because of what you’re writing, but the last few days have been some of the best for the paper in quite some time.”

“You’ve become a bit of an overnight phenom,” he added, smiling. They had somehow made it into his office and Emma was frozen. She hadn’t even taken a sip of her hot chocolate yet.

“Sit,” he said, reassuringly. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” Emma said slowly. Killian opened his mouth to interrupt, but she just kept talking. “I haven’t broken any news. I haven’t even covered any games. I mean, I knew people liked stories, but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Swan,” he said, doing his visible best to stay patient. “You’re writing about what people care about – people. There are always more stories off the court than there are on it and you’re finding those stories. That was the whole point of this assignment. At the risk of sounding like a former baseball-playing asshole, you’re hitting this one out of the park.”

Emma choked on her laugh. “You did sound like a former baseball-playing asshole.” Killian just shrugged. “Well,” she continued. “I’ve always been good at getting people to talk. I’m glad the higher-ups like it.”

“Everyone likes it.”

“Do you?”

Killian paused for a moment considering her and Emma realized that it was a pretty big question. But it was also a fair question – he was her editor after all.

“Of course I do. I…” he didn’t have a chance to finish his thought before his e-mail notification went off and Killian sighed dramatically. Emma laughed.

He stared at his phone for a few moments, his eyebrows pulling low and his teeth tugged on his bottom lip. He looked nervous.

“You ok?’

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They, uh, they just had an idea for coverage.”

“What?”

“They want to do some video reports.”

Emma made a face. She hated being on camera. There was a reason she was a writer and not a broadcaster. But if the top floor wanted video reports, she could do video reports. After all, Killian had mentioned it when they had first brainstormed ideas. She could cope. She wouldn’t like it, but she could cope.

“Ok,” she said. “I can do that. When do they want them.”

“Tomorrow.”

“That’s soon.”

“They also don’t want you to do it by yourself.”

“Oh?”

Killian nodded. “Yeah, they want there to be a conversation or something, I don’t know, but they want me to do it with you.”

Emma tilted her head, surprised. Killian had written his column on the series last week, but he wasn’t exactly on the front lines of coverage. Why the top floor would want him in the video was beyond her.

“I know,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I haven’t even actually seen a game this series. But they think it’s like a branding thing for the paper, let the people know their editor and/or columnist or some kind of garbage like that. If you don’t want to do it, Swan, we don’t have to. You can handle it on your own.”

She shook her head quickly. “I don’t mind. When are we supposed to be filming tomorrow?” Emma cringed at the sentence and wondered if she looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Killian didn’t seem to notice. He looked just as uncomfortable.

“In the morning, so the e-mail has informed me,” he said, staring at his phone with a vague look of disgust. “I could pick you up? There’s some sort of studio somewhere in this building apparently.”

“You don’t have to pick me up,”  Emma said. “I know how to get here.”

“It’s earlier than normal though,” he argued, with practiced ease. “And it’s not that far out of my way.”

“What?” That took Emma by surprise.

Killian shrugged. “It’s not a very big city, Swan.”

“It’s the biggest city in the country.”

“It’s not a very big city based on square mileage alone.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, realizing with startling clarity that he hadn’t actually told her where he lived. Killian was typing again – this time turning towards the laptop on his desk and leaving his phone alone – and Emma knew she wasn’t going to get any more information out of him, at least not when it came to living arrangements.

She opted for a different question instead.  

“You going to tell me why you didn’t want to film this video?” she asked.

“I don’t like being on camera,” he answered quickly. He was trying to brush her off. Emma wasn’t deterred that easily.

“No one does.”

“That is decidedly not true, Swan.”

“You’re dancing around something.”

His shoulders sagged and Emma knew she had won. “I don’t like being on camera,” he repeated. “Because it’s a reminder. I do the interviews now. I am 100 percent _behind the scenes_. The story isn’t about me anymore and being on camera is a stark reminder of all of that. It isn’t often that I feel particularly sorry for myself, but being forced on camera, turning all that attention back on me, is a pretty good way to do that.”

Someday Emma was going to ask Killian a question and she would get the answer she was expecting. Someday. It wasn’t now.

“You don’t need to do this,” Emma said. “I can film it on my own. Just tell the top floor you can’t.”

Killian shook his head, smiling at her. “I appreciate the offer Swan, but it doesn’t quite work like that. I could get out of it if I really wanted to, but sometimes it’s just easier to bite the metaphorical bullet. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Emma met Killian’s eyes and it was difficult for her not to take a step back in surprise. _Boss boss boss boss_. It wasn’t fair. He was absurdly good looking and he was looking at her like that and Emma couldn’t quite find a single coherent thought in her head.  

“It’s alright, love,” he said quietly. “You better update your Twitter followers, though. I’m sure they’ll be excited to finally see you in reporting action.”

Moment over. Emma nodded, refusing to sigh. “Yeah and make vaguely sexist comments on my outfit.”

Killian’s mouth fell into a tight line. “I know and I’m sorry about that Swan,” he said, clearly meaning every word. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you’ll find an outfit more than worthy of your on-camera _Record_ debut.”

“Thanks,” she said, laughing slightly.

“Nine o’clock tomorrow.”

“Nine o’clock,” Emma repeated, finally standing up and walking out of the office.

She woke up the next morning, grumbling at her alarm clock, set far earlier than it had been in the last two months. A clear positive of sports reporting was that, in most cases, sports happened at night. The chances of an early-wakeup call were slim to none, something Emma relished. She was not a fan of any time that was before 10 o’clock.

Mary Margaret had already left for school, but there were pastries from the bakery down the block sitting on the kitchen counter and a note that read:

_Break a leg! Make sure not to talk with your hands too much and wear nice shoes – you never know where the camera is going to pan. It’s going to be good. You’re a New York Knicks aficionado now. Bring Killian something to eat too. There’s plenty. - MM_

Emma laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes and opening the box in front of her, grabbing a bear claw. Mary Margaret must have bought them last night – after Emma had texted her about the video. She was so wrapped up in the sugary sweetness of the pastry that she didn’t even notice David’s addition to the note.

_Make sure you point out that Carmelo Anthony has other teammates and should consider passing the ball. Someone needs to tell him if his coach won’t. - David_

Emma rolled her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. It took a few seconds for her to realize that David’s addition to the note meant one very specific thing - he had been there this morning as well. That wasn’t exactly unusual. David spent most of his free time in the apartment, but Emma had noticed over the last few weeks that he had all but moved in to Mary Margaret’s room.

His clothes were in the laundry, his toothbrush was on the bathroom sink and he even had a small corner of the fridge now.

Emma wasn’t upset – she really wasn’t – but the realization made her feel just a bit more like the odd man out in their quasi-musketeers than ever before.

It was only a matter of time before David and Mary Margaret wanted their own space and Emma wasn’t quite certain she could handle losing the built-in support system of having her friends in her apartment.

She didn’t have time to start a full-blown freakout before the buzzer for the downstairs doors sounded, practically scaring her out of her skin. She scarfed down the rest of the bear claw and jogged towards the intercom, pressing the buzzer.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“You ready Swan?”

Emma glanced around her apartment, wondering where her shoes were and realized she didn’t know where she had dropped her phone either. “Um, no,” she admitted. “Just give me two seconds.”

“Or you could let me up so I don’t look like I’m loitering down here.”  
  
“I won’t be that long.”  
  
“Let me up Swan.” Emma sighed, but hit the buzzer and started the search for her shoes, unlocking the door on her way back to her room.

It took about ten seconds for him to get up the stairs and Emma heard the knock on her door, still buried slightly in her small corner closet. “It’s open!” she yelled.

She heard the door click back into place and the footsteps in the hallway before she saw him staring at her. _God_. He had stopped wearing suits to work – he was already in charge, no one was going to chastise him for not wearing a tie – so Emma had kind of forgotten just how good looked in them.

He looked good. Far too good. Dangerously good.

“Hey,” she muttered.

“You should be happy I’m not a murderer Swan,” he said seriously. “You always just leave your front door open?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m not an idiot. But the odds of you being a murderer seemed fairly low, so I felt as if it was safe to keep looking for shoes and have you let yourself in.”

“You’ve lost shoes?’

“And my phone.”

“You’ve accomplished a lot this morning.”

“You know you could make fun of me or you could help me look. My phone should be somewhere in the kitchen.”

Killian nodded at her, laughing under his breath. “I can find your phone, Swan,” he said, turning back out the door of her room.

Emma took a deep breath, trying to refocus her attention on the quest for shoes and getting pictures of Killian Jones standing in her doorway out of her mind. It was too early for that. She found her shoes a few moments later, sliding the heels on as she walked back down the hallway.

Killian was leaning against the counter, her phone in his hand and a look of accomplishment on his face. “It was sitting next to the coffee maker, Swan,” he said, holding his hand out. His eyes widened slightly when she walked around the corner.

Emma was wearing a red dress, one that hit just above her knees, the same black blazer she wore to her interview – you really only needed _one_ – and matte black heels. It wasn’t a look that was going to stop traffic, but it appeared enough to stop Killian Jones.

“You look fantastic, love,” he said and Emma took a deep breath.

“Thanks,” she replied, holding her hand out for her phone. “You don’t look half bad yourself. And thanks for finding my phone.”

He put the phone on her palm and his fingers brushed along hers. It was too early in the morning for this. Emma swallowed hard, the sound heavy in her ears. Killian hadn’t stopped staring at her.  

“Mary Margaret said to take one of the pastries if you want too,” Emma said, changing the subject as quickly as she could. “She bought them last night. For good luck.”

“That woman is a saint.”

“That is very true.”

Emma walked around him, grabbing her keys off the table near the door and noticed a cup sitting there that definitely hadn’t been there before Killian arrived. “What’s that?” she pointed at it.

“Hot chocolate,” he answered, walking towards her as he took a bite of bear claw, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You brought me hot chocolate.”

“It’s very early, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t sure she could remember the last time someone went out of their way for her – Mary Margaret and David not included – and certainly not a guy. She smiled at him, trying to put how much buying one cup of hot chocolate meant to her without actually saying any of it and possibly making a fool of herself.

Between that and the outfit reaction, Emma was bordering dangerously close to swooning.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Of course.”

“You want to go?”

“They’ll probably kill us if we’re late, so, yeah.”

All things considered, they didn’t do that bad. It wasn’t perfect – they had to do several takes when they introduced themselves, neither one of them could keep a straight face – but it got easier the more they talked.

They were good at talking.

Emma’s nerves settled into something resembling contentment the longer they talked about Carmelo Anthony’s jumpshot and Spike Lee’s courtside outfits. Killian made jokes and Emma rolled her eyes at the concept of a triangle offense.

It was good.

Emma wasn’t sure if she was on the fast track to a broadcast career, but she was pretty proud of her first foray into front-of-camera work.

It went up later that afternoon – front page on on _The New York Record_ website and Emma did her best not to watch it. She had promised Mary Margaret she wouldn’t watch without her. The Knicks were actually on the road that night – she wasn’t quite so successful to travel with the team _yet_ – so she’d be home at a perfectly respectable time.

David had been sending her questions as to her on-air performance all afternoon.

Her phone sounded again and Emma rolled her eyes, taking her focus away from her laptop to see what kind of slightly clever comment David had come up with this time.

Only it wasn’t from David. It was from Killian.

 _You did good, Swan. The higher-ups are pleased and there’s only one comment on your outfit_ . _Did you watch it yet?_

Emma glanced up across the floor to find him staring at her expectantly. He nodded towards the phone in her hand. She rolled her eyes. _I haven’t_ , she wrote. _I promised M’s I’d watch it with her later tonight. She’s like my stage-mom. She gets first dibs._

She saw Killian laugh as he read her text and he nodded at her across the office. _Fair enough._

_Was it really ok?_

Killian laughed again and made a face at his phone as if he couldn’t quite believe Emma was doubting him. _Of course it was ok_ , he texted back. _It was better than ok. They’re going to make us do it again. They’re already talking about doing it for every sport. Like a once a week thing_.

_A thing?_

_A thing, Swan_.

Emma’s heart stuttered and she stared at her phone. A thing. They had a thing. _I think we could be good at that_ , she wrote back.

 _I know we could_.

Emma kept her promise – much as she didn’t want to – and didn’t watch the video until she was sitting on the couch with Mary Margaret and David. He had insisted on popcorn, acting like this was some sort of Hollywood blockbuster they were watching instead of a ten-minute video with her and Killian.

“You didn’t need to put so much butter on it,” Mary Margaret said, nudging David in the ribs.

“It’s better this way,” he retorted. “Plus, we needed snacks for Emma’s big debut.”

Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a handful of popcorn anyway. “It’s not a big debut. I literally talk about the importance of a well-executed zone defense. I don’t do any stunts or anything.”

“But this is big!” Mary Margaret argued. “Now people have a face to go with the byline. And not everyone can talk about the merits of a well-executed zone defense.”

“Including the Knicks,” David added bitterly.

“I don’t know how much you’re going to like this video, David,” Emma said. “We do a lot of critiquing.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you most of the time. I’m firmly on team critique until they can win a game in convincing fashion.”

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Mary Margaret hit play on the laptop and the three of them crowded around the small screen, careful not to spill any popcorn on the floor.

Killian hadn’t lied – they had been good. They talked to each other with visible ease, clearly comfortable together and Emma was pretty proud of how good her outfit looked on screen.

Everything was going fine until the final few minutes when she was waxing poetic on zone defense and the camera panned over to Killian, checking his response. She sucked in her breath quickly when she saw his face – she hadn’t been expecting that.

Mary Margaret laughed. David made some sort of noise that seemed to scream, _I told you, Emma_.

Killian was staring at her with – there was no other word for it – awe on his face. Emma was talking about rotations and positioning on the post to get rebounds and Killian was simply staring at her as if he had never seen anything quite like her. Even when the camera panned out, fitting them both in frame, he was practically turned in his chair, attention rapt and focused entirely on her.

“Fuck,” Emma muttered under breath.

“I knew it,” Mary Margaret said triumphantly.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Emma argued.

“Your reaction would suggest otherwise.”

“But I’m talking about basketball.”

“And he seems very interested in what you have to say.”

“And what you’re wearing,” David added. Mary Margaret nudged him in the ribs again, a bit harder than before.

“Do you think anyone else is going to notice?” Emma asked.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “No, I don’t. Didn’t you say the people in charge liked it? They clearly didn’t notice. But he very obviously likes you Emma.”

“And your thoughts on zone defenses,” David said.

“Fuck,” Emma repeated.

“The question is though,” Mary Margaret continued. “What are you going to do about it?”

Emma shrugged, turning her attention back to the screen to watch Killian’s final comments on the Knicks’ championship chances. That was when it hit her – she was looking at him the same way he had been looking at her. Well, _fuck_.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret muttered. This time David laughed. Uproariously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys are antsy for some actual relationship and I really do promise it's coming – just stick with me here. I wanted Emma and Killian to really have some kind of ~relationship~ that wasn't an actual relationship first. If that even remotely makes sense. Fingers crossed. As per usual, thank for every click, comment and kudo. You're all delightful.


	17. Chapter 17

Emma didn’t do anything.

She spent two days pointedly ignoring Killian as much as it was possible to pointedly ignore your boss, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to work up the courage to say anything about those _looks_ at the end of the video.

Mary Margaret had tried to explain to her the importance of just _talking_ about things, but Emma had resolutely refused to even listen to a few minutes of that conversation. She wasn’t going down that road. She wasn’t even going to consider it.

And, for what it was worth, Killian didn’t seem all that interested in that path either.

He hadn’t texted, hadn’t e-mailed, hadn’t even walked over at 4:00 the day after the video went up on the site. Killian was, more or less, locked in his office, pacing again and occasionally crumpling up a few sheets of paper.

Emma had to admit – he still had a pretty good arm. She didn’t have a tracker at her desk, but Emma would have guessed he got some good velocity on his throws.

Mary Margaret was resolutely convinced he was upset because he also noticed the way he was looking at Emma in the video. Emma’s roommate was 100 percent certain he was embarrassed.

Emma thought that was vaguely absurd.

So she didn’t do anything. She didn’t text either or e-mail or offer to get him coffee when she went to Josie’s so he could continue pacing and throwing things in his office.

Emma was good at passive aggressive. It was comfortable there. She wasn’t going to do anything until Killian did. She’d just keep writing and tweeting. After all, she had bigger things to worry about.

She had a game that night.

Emma had an hour or so before she had to get to the the Garden, though, and it was 4 o’clock. She ignored that nagging feeling in the back of her mind, telling her to ask Killian to come with her, grabbed her phone and her wallet and walked out of the office, heading to Josie’s.

She pushed open the giant doors and stepped into the pedestrian traffic outside _The Record_ building, doing her best to ignore the sounds around her.

Emma couldn’t ignore one sound though – or rather that voice.

That voice should not have been on this street. That voice should not have been on this block or in front of _The New York Record_ building at approximately 4 o’clock on a Thursday. Strictly speaking that voice should not be on island of Manhattan. That voice should have been some six hours away by plane in some office building on the west coast.

That voice should not have been talking to Emma

It was though. And Emma couldn’t breathe.

She walked out of the doors of _The New York Record_ building at approximately 4:00 on that Thursday and heard Neal Cassidy talking to her for the first time in almost six years.

Emma almost fell over. For a moment she seriously considered just turning around and walking back in the building. She didn’t need hot chocolate that badly.

But she knew he had seen her. There was no running away from this.

David would tell her she should face her fears – sometimes he was frustratingly brave – to stand up to Neal and tell him every thought that had passed through her mind in the last six years. Maybe she would even yell at him for all the nonsense he had put her through and the sky-high walls she had built around her emotions after he left.

The weird thing was though that Emma wasn’t much interested in yelling at Neal. It wasn’t that she wasn’t mad at him – she was. Emma hated Neal, even despised him at one point, but, truth be told, she was kind of over it. She was disappointed it hadn’t worked out – frustrated that he had made her feel as if she wasn’t good enough for anyone – but right then at, now, 4:04 on a Thursday, Emma had no interest in yelling at Neal for all those things he did years ago.

Maybe that was what it felt like to reach enlightenment.

Or maybe, that was what it felt like to be entirely too preoccupied with a certain sports editor to sit and stew over previous relationships – no matter how much they had mattered.

So Emma didn’t run away. She didn’t turn around or yell. She walked farther out onto the sidewalk and started straight at Neal, a fresh feeling of confidence blooming in the center of her chest.

“Ems!” he yelled. He walked up to Emma, smiling as if this were the most normal thing in the entire world, as if former significant others normally appeared in front of one’s place of employment in the middle of the day. “Hey!”

He wasn’t dressed up – Emma knew he had some sort of vaguely important business-type job on the west coast – wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, but he did look pretty good. He had grown up in the last few years, almost settling into his face, and his arms were just as well-defined as ever.

“Hey,” Emma answered. He was standing just a few feet in front of her now – both of them stuck in the middle of the sidewalk.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Neal had landed in front of _The New York Record_ office. He hadn’t shown up at her apartment – that almost would have made sense – he was standing in front of the giant glass building, staring at her as if it they were juniors in college and he was just picking her up after a particularly long production night at the student newspaper.  

“You look great,” he said, sounding like he meant it. He always sounded like he meant it though, Emma thought to herself. Neal had been the first person who had failed to pass her sixth-sense test.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, trying her best to keep the hostility out of her voice. She simply sounded surprised.

Neal laughed quietly, still smiling at her. The sound grated on her nerves. Emma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She really was trying her best not to get mad, but the laughing made that more difficult than she would have hoped.

After all, Emma rationalized, he had been the one to just show up, _years_ after everything had happened. She hadn’t talked to Neal in years, hadn’t thought about him, much, in months – since she started the job at _The Record_ – and there he was laughing at her.

Neal was the one who had ruined everything. It had taken Emma a long time to actually believe that, to realize it hadn’t been her fault, that she hadn’t forced him towards that other girl. He had tried, for months, to blame her, to tell her how she was too focused on writing and he simply needed some attention.

Emma had spent far too much time getting over him – not to mention far too much time drinking wine with Mary Margaret – to not at least be slightly upset when Neal simply showed up and started laughing at her.

“I know,” he said. “It is kind of crazy isn’t it?”

Emma gaped at him. “Kind of crazy?” she repeated, slowly. “A little more than that. I thought you were supposed to be in Oregon or something.”

“Washington,” he corrected.

Emma shrugged. “Washington, Oregon, they’re all near the Pacific Ocean.”

“You never were much for geography Emma.”

That wasn’t true at all. Emma won the Storybrooke Junior High geography bee her first year in the town. She just honestly had thought he was living in Oregon. If she were being honest, she hadn’t paid much attention when he shared his life plan with her after they graduated college.

“Well, either way it doesn’t really answer my question,” Emma continued. “What are you doing here Neal?”

“I’ve been in New York for almost three weeks now.”

That took her by surprise. Emma’s previously narrowed eyes were wide open now.

“Three weeks?”

Emma should really stop repeating him – her mind went back to Killian calling her a parrot and she smiled despite herself. Neal looked encouraged by that. She tried not to sigh – she wasn’t smiling at him.

Neal nodded. “Yeah, work sent me out here to close a deal. It’s been great. I’ve really missed being in New York.”

“How did you know where I was?”

Neal smiled again. Once upon a time, Emma would have been willing to do just about anything because of that smile, completely overwhelmed that it was directed at her. But that was a long time ago and Emma was a different person and the walls around her emotions were higher and stronger – because of Neal.

“Well?” she prompted.

“You were always gonna be in New York Em,” he said matter-of- factly. “You love the city too much to ever leave. I knew you’d still be here.”

“But you’re not at my apartment,” Emma pointed out. “You’re standing in front of _The Record_ building. How did you figure that one out?”

“I saw your name in the paper.”

Emma blinked, then blinked some more. She felt her jaw drop open a little bit too. “What?”

Neal didn’t read newspapers. He didn’t _believe_ in them. Even when his girlfriend wanted to be a sportswriter and worked at the school newspaper and had internships at newspapers, Neal was adamant in his opinion. It was a dying art form, he said, archaic, bordering on extinct.

The fact that he had picked up a newspaper and seen Emma’s byline seemed even more fantastic than him showing up in front of the office.

“You don’t read newspapers,” Emma said flatly.

The smile on Neal’s face faltered for a few seconds, but it wasn’t from nerves – he was trying not to laugh again. He thought he was very important and Emma almost wanted to punch him in the face.

“I read newspapers Em,” he said calmly. “I want to make sure I know what’s going on in the world.”

“And you decided to read _The Record_ for that? There are better newspapers to check stocks.”

Emma shouldn’t be so hard on her own paper – it was paying her bills and up’ing her follower count on Twitter, but it also wasn’t _The Wall Street Journal_ when it came to financial reporting. The back cover was a picture of a Yankees pitcher falling over with some sort of thinly veiled headline about sex.

No one read _The Record_ for stocks.

He shrugged dismissively. “It was sitting on the seat next to me on the train. Trust me, Em; I wouldn’t have picked that on my own. I only picked it up that one time.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t be offended Emma,” he said quickly. “I did at least get to see what the score for last night’s game was. I was in a meeting so I didn’t get the chance to see it.”

“Huh.”

“I saw your name when I was flipping through, I didn’t know you were working here.”

“I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

“True,” Neal agreed. “But we haven’t talked in a long time either. Is this new?”  
  
“New-ish. Closing in on two months.”

“And they’ve got you covering the Knicks already?”

There was that patented Neal Cassidy support system again. Emma sighed, finally letting some of the anger she had been desperately trying to keep at bay course through her system.

“Yes, Neal, they are. Surprisingly enough, I’m pretty good at what I do.”

“I don’t want to fight Emma.”

“I’m not fighting,” Emma argued. “I’m just also not college-age me anymore, Neal. You can’t just show up here after, literally, years and expect me to be rolling out the welcome mat. This is weird.”

Neal sighed and opened his mouth to respond, but Emma got distracted by the feeling of someone very close behind her. She really had lived in New York for too long – her defenses were always up.

There had been people walking in and out of the building the entire time she had been standing there, but only one who actually stopped to talk to her. She knew who it was without even turning around. She was glad he had come out of his office.

“You’re blocking traffic, Swan,” he said from his spot behind her.

Emma spun around, arms still crossed over her chest, and rolled her eyes at Killian. “Look who’s managed to emerge from hibernation.”

“I’m very busy and very important, love, thanks, in large part, to you,” he said smoothly. “The higher-ups won’t stop e-mailing about the video. They want to to set up a time next week to talk about the future of our _thing_.”

“Next week?”

“They don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’m not overwhelmed.” Killian just raised his eyebrows. “Ok, well not really. At least not writing-wise,” she muttered underneath her breath.

“Is that not writing-wise reason have anything to do with you standing in the middle of the sidewalk?”

“It might.”

“Emma,” Neal said, the edge in his voice growing more and more pointed with every letter of her name. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“Maybe I’ll go, Swan,” Killian said softly behind her. “You seem a bit occupied. I can get you something to drink if you want. That’s where I was heading anyway.”

“No – don’t do that. Wait two seconds,” Emma answered, quickly, surprising herself as her gaze flitted between Neal and Killian. They were standing on either side of her and it all seemed a little too on-the-nose for her to totally deal with.

“Swan?” Neal repeated. He sounded scandalized. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Neal,” she said slowly, doing her best to keep her voice in check. “This is Killian Jones. He’s the sports editor of _The New York Record_. Killian, this is Neal Cassidy. We went to school together.”

Emma moved slightly out of the way and let Killian reach out to shake Neal’s hand. For one terrifying moment she was certain Neal wouldn’t take it and she had to resist grabbing his hand herself and putting it in the space in front of her. It only took a few moments of prolonged awkwardness for Neal to respond.

“Nice to meet you,” Killian said.

Neal only nodded.

“So…you knew Swan during school?” Killian asked, continuing to talk. “Back when she was writing columns and making a name for herself.” He rolled his head to the side and smiled lopsidedly at her. Emma groaned and shook her head, decidedly ignoring the butterflies that had suddenly appeared in her stomach.

“More than just knew I think,” Neal said cryptically.

“What?” Killian asked, obviously confused.

This was, quite possibly, the last thing Emma wanted to be dealing with at the moment. She wanted Neal to leave. She wanted to walk to Josie’s with Killian and order hot chocolate and talk about their _thing_ – they’d have to come up with a better name for that – on the walk back to the office.

She didn’t want to explain why she knew Neal. She didn’t want Killian to know. She wanted to move on. She already had.

Emma felt herself taking a step away from Neal – moving just a few inches closer to Killian – without even thinking about it. Killian glanced at her and did his best to smile encouragingly. She grimaced. Neal was still talking.

“Emma and I used to date,” he said, emphasizing her name with all the maturity of a ten year old.

Killian’s eyes widened despite his obvious efforts to contain his surprise. Emma grimaced again. She knew what he was thinking, could practically feel the questions forming in his mind, ready to be shouted out on the sidewalk like he was at some sort of press conference.

Emma met Killian’s gaze and smiled half-heartedly. “It was a long time ago,” she said.

“Not that long ago,” Neal argued. “In, you know, the grand scheme of things.”

“Six years is a pretty long time, Neal.”

“Six years?” Killian asked and the surprise was obvious.

Neal shrugged. “I was in the area. Wanted to see Emma.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian sounded unimpressed. “And standing on the sidewalk was the best course of action to do that?”

Emma bit her lip, trying to keep the smile off her face. “I was just asking him that when you showed up,” she said.

Neal looked frustrated and Emma could – almost – feel bad for him. He was being backed into a corner by two journalists who were determined to get answers. That wasn’t a fair deal for anyone.

“So then,” Killian continued. “If you and Swan dated why wouldn’t you have called? Set up a time to meet? Maybe not a few hours before she had a game to cover?”

“You’ve got a game Em?” Neal asked, ignoring Killian’s questions completely.

Emma nodded. “Later tonight.”

“Something she should probably be getting to sooner rather than later,” Killian added. Emma glared at him. The questions had been cute, but Emma didn’t need him to fight her battles for her – or dictate when she left for her game. He didn’t look particularly deterred by her, though. In fact, he looked rather entrenched on the sidewalk.

“How’d you find yourself on 8th Avenue in the middle of the afternoon, Neal?” Killian asked. He was going to get answers. Emma took a deep breath.

“I saw Emma’s name in the paper when I was on the train last night. Figured I’d stop by.”

“And you didn’t think to let her know first?”

“Didn’t have her number,” Neal mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“Killian, stop,” Emma said, putting her hand on his chest lightly. She could practically feel him cave underneath her. “Go get something to drink. It’s fine.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and Emma did her best to straighten her spine. “Tell you what Swan, why don’t we all go?”

“What?” she whispered. “That’s the worst idea I have ever heard.”

“Nah, Em,” Neal interjected. “I think it’s good. I could use some coffee.”

God. This was a disaster. And the day had been going so well. “Fine,” Emma spit out. “Fine. Let’s all go.”

She stalked off, walking a few steps ahead of them, determined to only look in front of her. Emma wasn’t sure how long it took for them to get to Josie’s, but it must have been some kind of record. She had practically sprinted the final few blocks.

Killian had caught up with her down the stretch – _athlete_ , she thought mutinously – and actually had the audacity to open the door for her.

“Don’t think you can get out of this that easily,” she said softly, still glaring at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Swan.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Were you not on your way here?”

“That’s not the point.”

“See, that’s where disagree love,” he said, smirking at her and pointedly ignoring Neal behind them. “It was 4 o’clock. You could have come and got me.”

“You looked busy.”

“Not too busy for you.”

Emma’s head snapped straight towards him, eyes wide. He needed to stop saying things like that. He needed to act more like her boss or she was going to start making all kinds of assumptions she shouldn’t even be considering.

“What the hell is this place?” Neal asked, breaking Emma out of her thoughts.

“Just try to ignore the grime,” she said. “We’re not going to stay very long anyway.”

“No?”

“No,” Emma repeated.

“I kind of hoped I could talk to you.”

“Did you miss the part where I have a game?

“Oh, right.” Emma shut her eyes lightly. She didn’t have time for this.

“Emma! Killian!” Jerry yelled from behind the counter, turning around with a pot of coffee in his hand. “Usual?”

“You have a usual at this place?” Neal asked, sounding slightly scandalized. Emma shrugged.

“We come here a lot,” Killian explained.

“Nearly every day,” Jerry added, staring at Neal like he had just caught him breaking into the register. “And you are?”

Emma gaped at him, wondering when it became protocol for the owner of the most disgusting coffee shop in the history of the world to question his customers for their identification.

“Neal Cassidy,” Neal answered, sounding just as surprised.

“Are you new at _The Record_?”

“I went to school with Emma.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. I figured Killian would have mentioned hiring a new writer. Of course, that’s if you could get him away from Emma here. Practically joined at the hip.” He glanced between Emma and Killian, a knowing smile on his face.

Emma wished she could disappear, or maybe the floor would swallow her up and get her out of this situation. Killian simply looked like he was enjoying himself.

“They dated,” he added, nodding towards Neal. _God_.

Emma needed to do something. This situation was spiraling out of control. “Ok, Jerry, could we get some drinks? We’ve got to get out of here.”

Jerry nodded at her, turning away from the counter and grabbing three cups from the back corner.

“So, Neal, you never said how you ended up in front of the building today,” Killian started, leaning against one of the stools next to him.

“I did. I saw Emma’s name in the paper.”

“So you didn’t know she was working at _The Record_ before that?”

Ah, Emma thought, the interview was in full-swing now. She had to give Killian credit – he was very good. He knew just the kinds of questions you had to ask if you were trying to push someone into a corner. And Neal was very much in a corner.

Killian was a very good journalist.

“No, I haven’t seem Em in a long time.”

“How long?” Emma bit her lip, desperately waiting for Jerry to bring the drinks.

“Couple of years.”

“Since graduation,” Emma interjected. Killian raised his eyebrows in surprise again.

“Huh,” he muttered. “That wasn’t the first byline she’s gotten, how did you just figure out where Swan was working?”

“I haven’t been in the city for very long. I work on the west coast.”

“Glamorous,” Killian said. The sarcasm was so obvious in his voice you could have sliced it in half.

“He works in Washington,” Emma said spitefully.

“Oh,” Killian said. The sarcasm was replaced with a bit of mockery. There was no way this was going to end well.

“What about you Killian?” Neal asked. “That guy said you’ve been spending a lot of time with Emma? Why, exactly?”

“I work with her.”

“Yeah, she said you’re the editor of the sports section. That’s the job that sounds glamorous.”

“Not really.”

“No? I’m surprised. You mean you don’t know the Knicks dance team? There aren’t any perks like that?”

Jerry - thankfully - brought the drinks at that moment, saving Emma from having to hear Killian’s undoubtedly witty retort. She pushed herself closer to the counter, trying to find some room between the two of them and pulled the cups closer to her before doling them out.

“Ok,” she said, quickly. “Time to go. Thanks Jerry.” Killian nodded, smiling in her direction, but Neal seemed stunned. “What?”

“I just wanted to talk to you Emma.”

“I have a game,” she said again, feeling as if she was a broken record.

“No, no, I know that,” Neal stuttered. “I just was wondering, if, you know, maybe you’d be around this weekend?”

Emma could feel Killian straighten next to her – fighting position. She was surprised he didn’t step in front of her, try to shield her with his body or some other nonsense. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Neal,” she said.

“Just coffee? I could meet you at the apartment? It’s the same one, right, that you were going to move into before?”

“No, Neal, it’s not,” Emma sighed. “Mary Margaret and I have upgraded in the last six years.”  
  
“You still live with Mary Margaret?”

“Some things actually don’t change.”

Neal laughed slightly and Emma took a deep breath. “It’s just coffee, Em. I promise. I don’t even know you anymore. I’d like to.”

“That’s not really my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is, just that I’d like to change that.”

Emma bit her lip, considering the offer and doing her best to ignore the very tense Killian next to her. “Just coffee?” she asked. Killian moved slightly next to her. Emma ignored him.

“Just coffee I'm free on Sunday.”

“I have a game on Sunday, but I can do after.” Emma walked back towards the counter and the stool Neal was sitting on, holding her hand out. He realized what she wanted almost immediately, handing her his phone so she could punch in her number.

“Text me and let me know where to be,” Emma said. Neal just nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks Em,” he said quietly.

“No problem,” she replied, pushing open the door and wondering what exactly it was that she had gotten herself into.

Emma and Killian walked in silence for a few minutes, both of them occupied with their drinks and doing their best to ignore the near-constant sound of Killian’s e-mail going off.

“You should really consider putting your phone on vibrate,” Emma said.

Killian glanced to her, where she was walking to his left and smiled. It was enough to dislodge the ball of tension that had built up in Emma’s stomach over the last 20 minutes.

“I don’t know that would make much of a difference,” he said.

Emma shrugged, but didn’t say anything else. It was strangely silent for almost 4:30 on 8th Avenue and it made her uncomfortable.  Or maybe it was just strangely silent between Emma and Killian.

She wasn’t sure what was worse.

They had made it back to the building and Emma reached forward to pull one of the doors open, but Killian’s hand on her forearm stopped her.

“What?” she asked.

“I just wanted to talk to you quick.”

Emma sighed. “I’ve had just about enough talking for one day, thanks.”

“Swan, listen to me,” Killian said, taking his hand off her arm and pulling the door open farther. He nodded his head towards the lobby and Emma walked in. She barely muttered a hello to Leroy as she and Killian showed their IDs and walked towards the elevator bay.

“What?’ she repeated.

He looked at a loss for words, which was a change of pace. He just stared at her, blinking a few times before pressing the button on the wall. Emma did her best to keep his gaze, one that reminded her far too much of that look at the end of the video.

“You know,” she continued. “Talking usually involves saying words.”

Killian laughed slightly, shaking his head. “True. I just, um, wanted to apologize.”

“For?”

“For being an ass in front of your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Emma said quickly. “He hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“I’m not sure he got that message.”

“I don’t care.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Emma widened her eyes at him and felt her breath catch at the sight of him – arms crossed, leaning up against the side of the elevator with ease. He needed to stop.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The elevator bell dinged and they both stepped out, but neither one moved towards the rest of the office, each standing awkwardly in the lobby. Emma rocked back on her heels and Killian stuck his hands in his pockets with a surprising amount of force.

“I’m not going to get hurt,” she said slowly. “It’s coffee.”

“You don’t like coffee. He didn’t know you don’t like coffee.”

Emma tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. She ignored her heartbeat. “He never really remembered that.”

“He should.”

“Killian,” she said softly, walking a few steps forward to invade his space. He didn’t move – not even when she touched his wrist. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. The only thing you need to worry about is making sure my stories get on the website. That’s it.”

He blinked at her twice and Emma knew the moment was over. She had retreated behind those walls again, fortified against blue eyes and editors who didn’t know how to act like a boss.

Killian nodded, his tongue dancing along his bottom lip. Emma refused to look at it. “Fair enough Swan,” he said softly. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just make sure you file on time and your stories will get up as quick as possible.”

“I’ve never missed a deadline in my life.”

“I know.”

And with that, he walked by her, pulling open the door to the rest of the office and leaving Emma alone, wondering, for the second time that day, what exactly she had gotten herself into.

* * *

 Emma didn’t miss her deadline.

She didn’t send a slightly snarky message to Killian at one in the morning – when she had finally made it back to her apartment – either. She wanted to. But she didn’t.

She counted both as moral victories.

The Knicks had won too – Emma hadn’t actually covered a loss yet – and that meant that her game on Sunday could be a series-clincher. All in all, Emma was fairly pleased with the state of the world as she walked into _The New York Record_ building on Friday afternoon.

She was only slightly nervous about the meeting she had scheduled with the higher-ups at 2:30. And she wasn’t even going to think about the e-mail Regina had sent her that morning, no doubt jam-packed with wedding demands and dress details.

No, Emma was in a good mood.

Until she walked into the building.

She practically collided with Walsh standing in front of the security desk. He was deep in conversation with Leroy and it didn’t take long for her to pick up on her name.

“They walked back in together again yesterday,” Leroy said. “Killian looked mad. I noticed Emma had been outside talking with some other guy for awhile. They were gone for a half an hour. They never usually take that long to get coffee.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma asked, practically shrieking.

“Hey Emma,” Walsh said cooly. “Leroy and I were just discussing some of the latest happenings in the office.”

“Yeah, I know what the fuck you were talking about,” Emma seethed. “The real question, though, is what you think gives you the right to do so?”

“It’s just talk,” Leroy said.

“You seemed awfully specific,” she replied, staring at the security guard. He almost looked like he cowered behind his desk. “Don’t you have anything better to do than document my mid-afternoon drink consumption.”

“Who was the other guy, Emma?” Walsh asked, leaning a bit closer to her.

She groaned and pushed past him, not even bothering to hand Leroy her ID badge. “Fuck off,” she replied, brushing past him and walking farther into the office.

“You know I’ll figure it out Emma!” Walsh shouted. “People want to know who the other guy is!”

She didn’t say anything else as she walked into the elevator – blessedly empty. Emma shut her eyes lightly, yanking out her phone and texting Mary Margaret. It was the middle of the afternoon and Mary Margaret was in the midst of summer camp, but she would respond if Emma made it clear it was an emergency. This was an emergency.

**_Crisis. Crisis. Leroy saw Neal. And told Walsh. And now the whole fucking paper knows._ **

_Leroy saw Neal doing what?_ Mary Margaret responded. _How did he even know it was Neal?_

**_Well, he didn’t know it was Neal specifically, but he knew it was a guy. Yesterday when Neal showed up. Leroy saw. Then he saw Killian come out. Apparently they’ve all be keeping tabs on how long we spend together when we go for coffee._ **

_I thought you got hot chocolate._

**_That’s not the point M’s._ **

_What is the point?_

**_I am freaking out._ **

It took about two seconds for Emma’s phone to ring and she ducked into a corner to answer. “Hey,” she whispered.

“What are you freaking out about?” Mary Margaret’s own voice was hushed, determined to not attract the attention of her mid-afternoon third graders.

“He saw Neal, M’s. Leroy the security guard watched everything that fucking happened yesterday and now he’s made it his priority to tell the entire paper.”

“Well that just seems kind of immature.”

“It’s incredibly immature.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“What can I do?” Emma asked, practically begging Mary Margaret to provide her with an answer. She’d just stop going to Josie’s. That was the only answer. And she’d only talk to Killian about work. No more discussing anything that was not explicitly sports related. She wouldn’t tell him about Elsa’s job offer – which she had planned to do later that afternoon – or show him Regina’s e-mail,

Both of those topics were certainly off the list.

She absolutely wasn’t disappointed about that.

“You could talk to Killian,” Mary Margaret suggested. “You should probably talk to Killian.”

“I can’t do that M’s. That’ll just make this worse. This has to stop.”

“To be fair, nothing is really going on.”

“People are talking!”

“You’ve always been able to cope with people talking about you Emma. You’d tell them to go to you know where..” Emma laughed at Mary Margaret’s forced-censorship in the presence of eight-year-olds. “And move on with your life. What’s so different this time?”

Emma sighed. This time was different because this time people were talking about her and Killian as if they were a collective unit. And she couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m not going to talk to him, M’s.”

Mary Margaret returned her sigh. “I know you’re not. For the record, though, I really think you should.”

“I know you do.”

“I’ve got to get back before the kids tear apart my classroom. You going to be ok?”

Emma nodded, fully aware that Mary Margaret couldn't see her. “I’ll be fine.”

She hoped it wasn’t a lie.

“I’ll see you later,” Mary Margaret said.

“Absolutely.”

Emma hung up the phone and did her best to remember why it was such a good day when she walked into the office. She glanced back down at her phone to check the time – 1:45 – she only had 45 minutes to fill before her meeting with Killian and the higher-ups, which meant she only had 45 minutes to fill before she actually had to talk to Killian.

She could find something to do for 45 minutes.

As soon as the clock on her computer turned to 2:40, Emma practically sprinted away from her desk. She was having a difficult time keeping it together. Walsh had come into the office shortly after her and spent the better part of the last 40 minutes making significant faces between Emma and Killian’s office.

It took everything in her not to punch him squarely in the face.

So if she ran a bit towards the elevators, she wasn’t really to blame. At least that’s what she told herself.

Emma hit the button and bounced up and down slightly on the balls of her feet waiting for the elevator to arrive. She heard the office door close behind her as if it had slammed shut and it only took a few seconds for the footsteps to stop next to her.

“You ready to go, Swan?” he asked her.

“That’s why I’m standing here.”

She chanced a glance up at him after her latest sarcastic remark and found him staring at her with a look of bemusement on his face. Emma wished he’d take her seriously.

“What’s the matter?” There was no love at the end. There was no elongated Swan. There was just some very clear frustration.

“I’m fine,” she said, not even sounding convincing to herself.

“You’re lying, but I don’t have to time to figure out what’s happening here. You going to be good for this meeting?”

“Are you honestly asking me that?”

“I want to make sure. They want to talk about this video thing for the long-haul.”

“I realize that,” Emma bit back, walking into the elevator. “I am fine.” She stared pointedly at him, crossing her arms to prove her point.

“Ok,” Killian replied. That was the end of the conversation.

The elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor and Killian stepped aside to let Emma out in front of him. “Thanks,” she muttered. He just nodded.

Emma took a deep breath, doing her best to not let it out as a sigh and walked towards Isaac’s office. He and Sydney were the only people on the floor – aside from their respective secretaries – and a massive conference room connected the two offices. Killian ducked in front of Emma to speak to Isaac’s secretary and she couldn’t quite make out the muted conversation between the two of them.

“C’mon, Swan,” he said softly. They were back to Swan. Despite her best efforts, Emma smiled. “They’re already in the conference room.”

It really was enormous – much bigger than the one on the sports floor – and seeing Isaac and Sydney huddled on the corner of the table was almost comical.

“Killian! Emma!” Isaac started, standing up and walking towards them. He shook each of their hands before moving back to let Sydney do the same. “Sit! Sit! Let’s talk about what you guys have got going on in sports.”

Emma sat down, pulling her chair away from Killian’s slightly and hoping he didn’t notice. He did. He glanced over at her, but didn’t say anything.

“So,” Isaac continued. “The hits are still coming in from the first video you two did and we really think it would be great to keep this thing going throughout the series. Or however long they play. Then Sydney and I were thinking, we’ll do one for major events, starts of seasons, drafts, that kind of thing. We’ll only really go all-in during playoff runs, but if we do this right this can become something big.”

“How big?” Killian asked.

“Big,” Sydney replied. “Like Isaac said, the hits are still coming in. We’ve been pushing it on social media every couple of hours and the retweets and comments have been practically non-stop. People seem to like the two of you together quite a bit.”

Emma bit back a groan, unable to shake the double entendre of the statement.

“Thoughts, guys?” Isaac asked.

“Well, I’m fine with it,” Killian answered. “I think it went well before. So as long as we’re both all in on this.”

Emma widened her eyes at him in warning and pursed her lips. “Of course we’re both all in on this,” she snapped, staring right at him. “If people are interested, then I’m interested in doing it.” Isaac was painfully unaware of what was going on, but Emma thought Sydney looked intrigued. Killian just smirked at her.

“I watched the video with my roommates after it went up and it seemed to go really well,” Emma continued. “I thought Killian looked particularly interested in what we were talking about near the end.”

This time it was Killian staring at Emma wide-eyed and slightly terrified. She just smiled. “So, yeah,” she added. “I’d love to keep doing it.”

Killian nodded. “Same here.”

Isaac beamed at them. Sydney looked passably interested. “That’s fantastic,” Isaac said. “Why don’t we set something up for next week then?”

“Sure,” Killian muttered. “Just e-mail me the specifics.”

“Sometimes I worry I’m going to make your inbox explode” Isaac chuckled.

“It’s part of the territory.”

Isaac nodded and Emma knew the conversation was over. It hadn’t really been much of a meeting – that is if you didn’t count her and Killian’s veiled conversation within the conversation. “Sydney and I will talk with the site and the studio people about scheduling your next filming session. Hopefully the Knicks won’t lose before then.”

“If they win on Sunday, they move to the next series,” Emma supplied. “If they lose, they’ll play again on Tuesday night. So it doesn’t really matter time-wise.”

Isaac nodded. “That’s good to know. Thanks Emma.”

“No problem.”

“We’ll let you two know when to be back in studio. I’m glad we decided to do this – especially this whole series for Emma. It’s going better than we ever could have hoped. You’re off to a fantastic start as editor, Killian.”

Emma noticed the Killian’s face flush slightly and felt herself smiling again. No, she thought, this is exactly what she had decided not to do. “Oh, well,” Killian answered, flustered just a bit. “It’s really been all Swan’s writing that’s made the difference.”

She didn’t quite know what to do with that. They had spent so much time during the meeting sending mixed signals and quasi-insults, that Emma was fairly certain they were both going to explode at one another the minute they walked out of the conference room.

She certainly hadn’t expected a compliment.

Emma looked at Killian, eyes wide as they had been throughout this entire meeting. He just shrugged. “We’ll send you all the information by the end of the day, Killian,” Isaac said.

Killian stood up, shaking both Sydney and Isaac’s hands again before making his way out the door. Emma followed suit and walked away, her head practically swimming with thoughts.

He didn’t say anything to her when they walked into the elevator. Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play it, that was fine. She could be silent.

Except her phone was not particularly interested in being silent.

The sound of it seemed to bounce of the tiny box and Emma winced. Killian laughed. “You should probably consider putting your phone on vibrate, Swan,” he chuckled.

“Yuh huh,” she mumbled, pulling her phone out of her pocket and clicking on the e-mail icon. Well fuck. She apparently hadn’t responded to Regina in a timely enough fashion for the bride-to-be’s liking.

Emma groaned and started to scroll through the message.

 

From: [ queenr1@modmuseum.net ](mailto:queenr1@modmuseum.net)

To: emma.swan@recordsports.com

Subject: Second Message

Emma,

This is the second time I’ve e-mailed you today. I know you always have your phone on you – Ingrid said this was the best way to get in contact with you – so I’m curious as to why you couldn’t even take two seconds out your incredibly busy schedule to let me know you at least received my message.

As it is, I’ve forwarded what I wrote earlier so you can. Please confirm you’ve received this one and make sure to answer my previous questions as well.

Emma groaned, drawing a questioning look from Killian. She ignored him and started typing as quickly as possible, scanning the rest of the e-mail as she went.

 

From: [ queenr1@modernmuseum.net ](mailto:queenr1@modernmuseum.net)

To: [ emma.swan@recordsports.com ](mailto:emma.swan@recordsports.com)

Fwd: Dress fittings, dates, expectations

Emma,

Since you didn’t answer the first e-mail I sent about bringing a date to _my_ wedding, I have to ask again. I know this is awkward. I know you don’t want to answer me. I don’t really want to be asking. But these are the cards we have been dealt.

I need to know your plans, Emma. We’re closing in on a month and a half until the wedding and you can’t keep stringing me along like this. One way or another. Just make a choice Emma.

As far as the dresses go, I’ve attached a photo of your dress with the adjustments made. It’s going to stay at Ingrid’s house until you get here. I’m not sending it to New York, just to have you bring it back.

Lastly, I wanted to speak to you about dates. I know you’ll be coming to Storybrooke with Mary Margaret and David so, as far as I know, you’ll be here that Thursday afternoon and stay through Sunday. Is that right?

I’m also assuming you’re staying with Ingrid? I didn’t count you as part of the hotel block, so if you aren’t, then you should probably consider staying with Ingrid. 

\- Regina

 

Emma groaned again and this time she couldn’t ignore Killian’s laugh as he all but pushed her out of the elevator. She moved to walk back onto the sports floor, but skidded to a stop when Killian grabbed her shoulder.

“What the hell?” she asked, glancing behind her.

“You going to talk to me now or you going to keep ignoring me?”

“What are you talking about?”

He looked at her as if she really might be crazy and Emma did her best to keep her face neutral. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You barely strung two words together in that meeting,” Killian spat out. “That was important, Swan, you could have at least made it seem as if you could tolerate being on camera with me.”  
  
“What?!” she yelled, slamming her arms across her chest. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Then what was all that nonsense about looks at the end of the video? Not to mention the very obvious attitude before we left?” Emma shrugged, but Killian wasn’t done. “There’s something going on you’re not telling me and I want to know what it is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

Killian hadn’t taken his hand off her shoulder the entire time he was talking and Emma couldn’t focus on anything but the slight pressure on it. He tilted his head and –– finally – moved his hand, trailing it down her arm.

Emma couldn’t breathe.

This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid by trying to avoid him.

“You can tell me, you know,” he said, staring at his shoes, arms firmly back at his sides.

“You’re going to be mad.”

“To be fair, Swan, I’m already a bit mad.”

Emma bit her lip and backed up a few inches until she ran into the wall – that seemed rather poetic. She could do this. She could talk. She was an adult. Emma Swan could have a discussion about emotions with Killian Jones. Killian Jones, her boss. Killian Jones who kept staring at her from underneath his eyelashes. Killian Jones whose hand on her arm had practically sent Emma up the wall she was now leaning against.

“Swan?” he prompted after she still hadn’t replied.

“I walked in today and it was fine, everything was good, but then I got into the lobby and Walsh was there and he was talking to Leroy and they were talking about yesterday and Leroy was telling Walsh how he saw me talking to Neal and how you came out – and we were gone for a long time Killian – and apparently Leroy times how long it takes us to walk to Josie’s every day and they all _know_ Killian. This whole stupid office knows we go get coffee every day and they’re all fucking talking about it and coming up with some weird love triangle thing after Neal showed up yesterday. And then Regina is e-mailing about wedding dates and my dress and where I’m going to stay when I go home for like _five_ days and I’ve got blog posts to write and stats to double check and I just..can’t...deal.”

Killian took a step back, wide-eyed and smiling at her like she had just recited the Gettysburg Address instead of a minute-long freakout in the lobby of the sports department.

“Breathe, Swan,” he said, reaching out to touch her wrist again. Emma didn’t pull back – that was surprising.

“That’s proven to be more difficult today than normal.”

“Did Walsh say anything to you?”

“Not this time.”

“This time?” He really did look mad then. Emma thought she had seen Killian’s temper get the best of him when they argued about her first story, but this was something completely different. His eyes narrowed dangerously so that she could barely even make out the blue and his grip on her wrist tightened a fraction. His mouth formed a completely straight line and his shoulders squared until he was practically pushing her into the wall.

Emma bit her lip. “Well, he had said some things before. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s the complete opposite of that. What did he say?”

Emma wouldn’t tell him – at least not verbatim. She didn’t want to witness a murder later that afternoon and she was fairly certain that Killian would actually kill Walsh if he knew what he had said.

“Swan?” he asked, sharply, pulling her attention straight to him.

“Just some nonsense about the reason I was getting the Knicks stuff. I don’t care about that, Killian. It’s not like I’ve never dealt with that kind of garbage before. That’s why I didn’t say anything. But this was different. They were talking about my life away from _The Record_ and I can’t have that.”

“So that’s why the attitude. Distancing yourself, were you?” Emma shrugged. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him anymore. “You don’t have to do that, love.”

“People think things are going on that aren’t, Killian. This whole building thinks so.”

“What do you think is going on, Swan?”

That wasn’t the response she was expecting. And, truth be told, with Killian standing just a few inches away from her, if Emma didn’t know better, she’d probably think the same thing as the rest of the office.

Hell would freeze over before she told him that, though.

“Friends?” she suggested, moving to her left slightly in a desperate attempt to get some breathing room.

Killian’s smile sputtered for a moment and Emma was certain she saw something flash across his face, but he nodded a few seconds later, rubbing the back of his hand.

“Friends,” he repeated.

“Good.”

“But,” he continued. “Friends tell each other things, right? So this garbage happens again and you tell me, ok?”

Emma took a deep breath and considered her options. Could she do that? Maybe. Probably. Absolutely.

It was an overwhelming realization to have in that lobby where so much had happened in the last few months. Emma had spent her life making sure she kept everyone out, building a fortress to make sure she didn’t get hurt when everyone – inevitably – walked away.

She had a safety net in Ingrid, Elsa, Mary Margaret and David, but Emma was certain she didn’t need anyone else.

That had changed since she got to _The Record_. Or, her mind argued, since she had run over Killian in the hallway. He had wormed his way into that small circle, breaking through the metaphorical fortress with a determination that even Emma had to admire.

She – almost – wasn’t terrified.

“I can do that.”

“Good. You going to tell me about Regina’s e-mail now?” Emma laughed as Killian turned to lean against the wall next to her and nudge her shoulder with his. “Must’ve been a good one if it warranted two different groans in the elevator.”

Emma handed him her phone and studied his face while Killian read the e-mails, smiling when she heard him laugh.

“That woman is a piece of work, Swan,” he said, handing her back the phone.

“I still don’t understand how I got so involved in the planning of this entire event.”

“So,” he said slowly, starting to walk towards the office. “You going to bring a date to this thing?”

Emma stopped short and stared at him. “What?” he asked. “It’s just friendly curiosity.”

“When I know, I’ll let you know.”

Killian didn’t say anything else, just smirked at her before walking away. Emma shook her head slightly and walked back to her desk, pointedly ignoring Walsh’s lingering stare.

 _Friends._ Yeah, right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, you all are wonderful and fantastic and I can't thank you enough for clicking and reading. Still. Because I know this is monstrous and I know we're still kind of living in that slow burn world, but I PROMISE it's moving. It really is. As far as timeline goes, we're about two months in to something that's a year-long thing story-wise. I'm babbling. Anyway. Thank you for reading and you're INSANELY nice comments. That's why this chapter is so absurdly long – I'm late on updating and you guys are nice and this was originally written as two chapters.


	18. Chapter 18

She told him about Elsa’s job offer later that night. 

It was friendly, she had rationalized. Friends talk about the other important people in their lives.  _ God _ . Emma was in trouble and she knew it. 

Mary Margaret and David were also painfully well aware of her situation, having played sounding board to her Friday-night-rant when she had gotten home from work. 

“It’s a good thing you didn’t tell Killian exactly what Walsh said,” Mary Margaret told her. “I don’t think he would have reacted very well to that. He seems a bit protective.”  
  
“A bit?” Emma asked incredulously. 

“He wasn’t happy,” David added. 

Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged surprised looks before Emma turned towards David. “What do you mean he wasn’t happy?”

“Earlier today. He hates Walsh. He doesn’t like him talking to you.”

“And you know this how?”

“We were talking,” David said evenly as if it wasn’t unusual at all. He reached into the fridge to grab one of the drinks from his designated corner and Emma stayed rooted to her spot in front of the counter, staring wide-mouthed at Mary Margaret. She shrugged. 

“Just how often are you texting my boss, David?”

He flipped the cap off the bottle, tossing it into the trash and gave Emma a slightly appraising look. “We’re referring to him as your boss now?”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know. We talk. I get the feeling he doesn’t have a ton of friends.”

“That still didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not timing my conversations with Killian, Emma. I’m not the security guard in your building.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but the movement carried through her entire body and the result left her slumped forward a bit. 

Killian Jones really had wormed his way right into the middle of her life. 

_ Friends _ . 

“What do you even talk about?” Emma asked. 

“Stuff.”

“David,” Mary Margaret chastised. Emma appreciated that. He’d have to answer her questions now – David couldn’t turn down Mary Margaret. 

“Sports and the paper and the precinct. Normal stuff,” he replied. 

“You talk about the precinct with Killian?” Emma was surprised. She could barely get two words out of David when it came to his job. He had worked his way up the NYPD ladder since the three of them had officially moved to the city and was only a few months away from his detective’s exam. 

David’s explanation was that he didn’t like to bring his work home with him, but Emma was fairly certain he just didn’t like to bring his work home to Mary Margaret. She’d worry. 

“Sometimes,” David replied, shooting an anxious glance Mary Margaret’s way. “I mean it’s not like in-depth stuff. We talk about the paper a lot too.”

Emma needed a drink, a point she was about to make vocal when Mary Margaret beat her to it, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring two – rather large – glasses. 

“You ok, M’s?” 

Mary Margaret nodded. “I’m just thirsty.”

“I can see that.”

“You going to fill us in on the last 36 hours of your life Emma?” she asked, still ignoring David standing next to her. He looked over questioningly at Emma. She didn’t respond, taking a drink of wine instead. “All I heard was that Neal showed up and you were getting coffee after your game on Sunday.”

“That’s really all there was to it.”

“The security guard in your building doesn’t think so.”

Touche. 

“He just showed up on the sidewalk, M’s. Six years later and he saw my byline and thought that was the best way to strike up a conversation. I was in the middle of asking him why when Killian walked out and invited us all to get coffee.”

“And Killian just happened to walk out at that time?”

“It was 4 o’clock.”

Mary Margaret nodded solemnly. “And?”

“And we went to Josie’s and it was awkward and awful and Killian and Neal were having some sort of lets see who can make Emma more uncomfortable contest. So I tried to leave and Neal asked me to get coffee.”

“Why would you go Emma?” David asked. Mary Margaret glared at him and he took a step back. 

“That’s what I was getting to,” Mary Margaret added. 

“I want it to be over,” Emma said. “If I do this. If I drink coffee with him and  _ finally _ say goodbye, it’ll be done. I can move on.”

“With Killian?” Mary Margaret asked, staring at Emma over her wine glass. 

“What’s gotten in to you M’s?”

“Summer camp is the work of demon parents who can’t figure out what else to do with their children when they’re not in school. It’s awful and I am exhausted and I want to drink more.”

Emma gaped at her friend before practically exploding with laughter. “You deserve to drink, M’s” she said, squeezing Mary Margaret’s hand.

“So do you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I was hoping you’d ignore that.”

“Nope.”

“Come on,” Emma sighed. Mary Margaret just shook her head. “It’s not like that M’s.”

“You want it to be though.”

_ Friends _ . Emma and Killian were friends – in the most professional sense of the word. So they shared vaguely personal details about their lives and Killian was apparently involved in a very in-depth text message conversation with one of Emma’s best friends, but it was still professional. 

Or at least professional’ish. 

This time it was David’s turn to chastise Mary Margaret, staring at her slightly. She almost – almost – looked repentant. “Oh, come on David,” she said. “You can’t tell me that there isn’t  _ something _ going on here. Why else do you think he’s texting you?”

David looked a little offended by that. “We’re friends, babe,” he said. “He doesn’t talk about Emma really.”

“Not really?”

Emma really needed that drink now. She downed her glass of wine in several large gulps, setting the now-empty glass back down on the counter. “This conversation needs to end,” Emma said, doing her best to put as much authority in her voice as possible. “I’m not talking about this anymore. I want to hear about the kids, M’s. David, I’ll even help quiz you on the rules of the New York City police force if it means we can stop talking about this.”

Mary Margaret looked properly ashamed. David scuffed his foot along the kitchen floor. They both issued a “sorry” in Emma’s direction and she nodded once. 

“Let’s do something,” Emma said. 

“What?”

“Something. We’re young. We’re attractive. We live in the greatest city in the world. We should go out. Let’s do something.”

“Yeah, ok,” Mary Margaret agreed, finishing off her own glass. David nodded next to her. 

“Good. Just don’t wear heels M’s. I don’t want to deal with broken ankles later.”

“Deal.”

Emma didn’t have to deal with any broken ankles later that night, which was good news because Emma had to deal with her rather drunk self instead. She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much to drink, which was troubling on several different accounts. One, it meant that Emma hadn’t actually had much of a social life in the last few years and, two, it meant that she had a hard time holding the amount of alcohol she had consumed. 

Her friends weren’t much better. 

David was doing his best to stay focused – trying to make sure Mary Margaret didn’t land on her face when they walked out of the bar – but Emma noticed his whole body shake slightly when he stood up. 

She had missed this. 

Once upon a time, the three of them had done this regularly. Maybe not with  _ quite  _ so much alcohol, but they had a  _ place _ during college and Friday nights were “musketeers nights” for years. 

Then Neal had happened. And the trio became a quartet that never quite seemed as comfortable. 

David had never really approved. Mary Margaret had just wanted Emma to be happy. And she was  – for awhile. But it never felt quite  _ perfect _ . 

David never texted Neal. 

Drunk-Emma was a lot more philosophical than sober-Emma. 

“You ok, Emma?” David asked quietly once the three of them were tucked safely into the backseat of a cab, flicking her arm like he did when they were 14. She just nodded. 

“I can stop texting him if you want.” 

Emma glanced over at him and smiled, staring at the way he had his arm wrapped protectively around Mary Margaret – who, it seemed, had nodded off a few minutes before. 

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I would if you asked me to.”

“I know you would,” Emma said, flicking David’s arm as well. “Thanks.”

“This is different, Emma.”

“I know.”

“He cares.”

“I know,” she repeated. 

“For what it’s worth I’m not sure you should go get coffee with Neal.”

“That’s not really your call.”

“He didn’t like it.”

“What?” That caught Emma by surprise. Maybe they shouldn’t have left the bar so early. She could use another drink.

“Don’t get mad,” David said, rolling his head towards her. “He knew he was out of line. He’s just worried. I think he’s convinced Neal is stalking you.”

Emma laughed softly. “I’m not convinced Neal isn’t stalking me.”

“Don’t go.”

“I want it to be over,” Emma said, repeating herself from before. “I just want it to be done and for him to go back to Washington and be gone.” 

Emma’s phone dinged – thankfully on a lower volume than earlier in the day – and she moved slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t elbow David in the ribs in the process, to pull it out of her bag. She glanced at the screen and bit her lip. 

“It’s him isn’t it?” David ask. 

Emma nodded, swiping her finger across her phone to read the message. 

_ You missed a statistical disaster this evening Swan. Will nearly had a mental breakdown on the floor when he thought his boxes had been deleted from the system _ . 

Emma stared at the screen for a moment before racing her fingers back in reply. 

**_Im srry i mised that_ **

She hit send and sighed, leaning her own head on David’s shoulder. She felt him chuckle underneath her, moving slightly so he was sitting straighter between Emma and Mary Margaret. 

Emma could only imagine what he looked like – one arm around his girlfriend, the other around Emma, his hand slightly wrapped around her head. She used to hate when he did that when they were teenagers, like he was trying to pull her closer into the hug. As Emma got older, though, she relished the movement, knowing it was David’s way of protecting her. 

She liked that. 

Emma’s phone dinged again and David muttered something about being quiet. She nudged him with her elbow. He didn’t say anything else. 

_ You alright there Swan? Not many of those words were spelled right _ . 

Emma groaned, staring at her message. Damn.  **_I’m good. Really good, actually_ ** **.** She wrote. No, that wasn’t good – she should change that. She didn’t. She hit send. 

_ That so? Where are you? _

**_In a cab with David and Ms_. **

_ Going? _

**_Home. I’m not at Seton Hall anymore. Can’t quite stay out all night._ **

_ Are you drunk, Swan? _

Emma could practically hear the smirk in the text message She bit back her own smile when it hit her just who she was talking to, as if she had thrown a bucket of ice water on her head. 

**_Am I allowed to tell you that? You won’t cut back on bylines if I do?_ **

_ Bad form, Swan. I said friends and I meant it. Friends share drunk text messages.  _

**_Would you drunkenly text David?_ **

_ Only you, Swan.  _

Emma picked her head up off David’s shoulder and stared up at the ceiling of the cab. This was too much to process. She stuffed her hand back in her bag as the cab pulled up in front of her and Mary Margaret’s apartment. David handed a wad of bills to the driver and Emma got out, leaving the door open so he could drag Mary Margaret onto the sidewalk. 

It took far longer than usual to walk up the stairs to their front door, but Emma opened it on her first try, which she counted as a victory. 

Mary Margaret was awake again, but still leaning heavily on David who was already directing her down the hallway. 

“Did you have fun, Emma?” she asked, only slurring her words a bit. 

Emma nodded, smiling. “I did, M’s. Did you?” 

Mary Margaret noded back, sinking farther into David’s side. “Drink some water,” Emma added. “And go to sleep. You’re not a sophomore in college anymore Blanchard, you won’t be able to bounce back like you used.”

“True, night Emma. And make sure you let Killian know you got home ok. He' been nervously texting David all night.”

David stared at Emma, a look of pure fear on his face. Maybe Mary Margaret hadn’t been so drunk after all. 

Emma didn’t have a chance to say anything before David had pulled his girlfriend towards her – _their_ – bedroom. She walked to her own room, pulling her phone out of her bag and hitting his contact before she had really considered all the reasons she shouldn’t. 

It rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello, love,” Killian said. “I take it you’ve made it home.”

“Cut it, Killian. You were texting David all night?” There was a deafening silence on the other end of the phone. “Killian,” she said sharply, doing her best not to raise her voice too much.

“Still here.”

“There was a question you were very clearly avoiding there.”

“I’d rather not fight with slightly drunk-you, Swan.”

“I’m fine now. Somehow discovering that my editor and my best friend’s boyfriend spent the entire night texting has sobered me up a bit.”

“That’s not fair. Those labels are far too narrow.”

“How would you label it?”

“I would say that your friends spent a bit of time texting each other tonight.”

“A bit of time?”  
  
“It was hardly all night.”

“What was it then?”

Killian sighed into the phone and Emma sank onto her bed, throwing one arm across her forehead. 

“I was worried,” he said softly.

“What could you possibly have been worried about?”

“You sat straight as a rail at your desk all day, Swan. I lost track of the number of times you looked over at Walsh. And you practically ran out when you were done. I know we talked, but you were far from fine when you left. So, I told David. Your  _ friend _ because, as previously discussed, I am also your friend.”

That almost made sense. No, Emma thought, it did make sense. It also meant he cared. A lot. More than Emma had expected. 

“Oh,” she mumbled.

“What was that, love?”

“I just didn’t expect that kind of response.”

“Was it alright?” If Emma didn’t know better, she would have missed the question within the question. As it was, Emma heard the lack of self confidence as if it had slapped her in the face. 

“Of course it was. I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For getting mad. I tend to react before I think. It’s a...well it’s a defense mechanism.”

He made a noise under his breath as if to tell Emma  _ I know that _ . “That’s alright, Swan. I’m sorry for going behind your back with worry.”

“I’m just not used to it.”

“I’ll only worry in front of you from now on.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispered. 

“What did you mean, love?”

“I meant I’m not used to having people worry about me. I mean, aside from Ingrid and Elsa and M’s and David. I don’t know where you came from.”

“I’ve been here Swan,” he laughed. “Feel free to add me to that list from now on.”

Emma bit her lip and shut her eyes, allowing herself, just this once, to feel her heart swoop within her chest. 

“Deal.”

“Get some sleep Swan and don’t get out of bed before noon. Then drink as much water as is humanly possible, ok?”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Just do me this favor.”

“Deal,” she repeated. 

“Good night, Swan.”

“Good night, Killian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I am drowning in smiles and sunshine and metaphorical rainbows. Thank you so much for all your kind words and comments and kudos on this story. And for sticking with it. It's long – really long – and it's kind of consumed my life so I can't say how much I appreciate every single click. I know this one is kind of short in comparison to last chapter, but I can promise I big-time update coming up next.


	19. Chapter 19

They had won. 

The Knicks had actually won the series. And Emma watched. From a courtside seat at the media table. If it weren’t for the credential around her neck, she might have assumed she was dreaming. 

She wasn’t. They had won. 

And that meant Emma got to keep writing. More stories. More features. More blog posts. And more videos with Killian. 

He had come to the game that day – a series-clincher warranted a special column for Monday’s paper – sliding into his seat next to Emma just a few minutes before tipoff. 

“Did you drink as much water as humanly possible yesterday, Swan?” he asked, a smile on his face and his eyes practically sparkling with amusement. 

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” she answered. “You are hysterical. Cutting a little close aren’t you? They're just about to anthem.”

“I had stuff to do.”

“Stuff?”

“Journalism stuff. That is, as they say, why they pay me the big bucks.”

“Is it a secret?  
  
“You’ll have to read  _ The New York Record _ tomorrow, just like everyone else.”

“So it is a secret.”

Killian rolled his head on his shoulders, staring at Emma. “Are you still going to get coffee later?” 

Emma blinked twice – the conversation had taken a very definite shift and she felt like she had tripped over her own feet in the process. “What?”

“Coffee. Remember? It’s Sunday. You’re supposed to go after the game.”  
  
“I know that,” Emma answered. “I don’t need you to update me on my own schedule.”

“Still haven’t answered my question, love.”

“I am still going to get coffee.”

Killian didn’t say anything else, just gazed at Emma with a look that practically kept her pushed in her seat when the National Anthem began. She shook her head slightly, breaking eye contact and staring at the celebrity they had ushered onto center court. 

Emma spent the next two hours of her life focused only on the basketball game in front of her and the tweets she was updating. She refused to look to her left at the sports editor who was, decidedly, under her skin. 

When the game ended – and she had pulled a few pieces of confetti out of her hair – Emma and Killian followed the rest of the media herd into the post-game presser, settling into their assigned seats to wait for coaches and players to emerge from the locker room. 

It was – Emma quickly realized – the first time she had seen Killian in reporting action. Turned out, watching Killian Jones at a press conference was a bit like watching a master at work. 

He took over. 

Other reporters actually turned around to watch him as he peppered question after question, asking about everything from the plays in the fourth quarter to the feeling of forced post-game photos with the conference trophy. 

And they answered. Every question that Killian asked got an answer, filled with the kind of emotion and detail that Emma knew athletes – usually – kept underwraps. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

No, Emma argued with herself, it made sense for Killian. 

Emma spent most of post-game typing, updating quotes on the blog and responding to Twitter questions demanding to know how  Kristaps Porziņģis felt about his – per social media – less-than-ideal performance in the post over the last few games. 

As soon as the presser wrapped, Killian was out of his seat, following Porziņģis into the locker room and tugging Emma along with him. 

“C’mon,” he muttered, practically yanking her wrist out of its socket. “They don’t give you anything good in there. We’ll get more at lockers.”

Emma nodded – that was something she had learned her first year in college – but silently wondered what else Killian hoped to get out of these players. He had practically gotten them to divulge their darkest secrets at the presser. 

She had been wrong. 

He was even better in the locker room. He was charming and personable and he  _ cared _ . He really did. Killian didn’t just want to tell a story for hits or sales. He just wanted to tell the story. 

Emma worked her way around the locker room, grabbing a handful of quotes and a few one-on-one minutes with players before heading to the door and feeling her phone vibrate in her hand. 

Neal. 

_ I’m outside.  _

Emma sighed, trying to remember all the reasons she had agreed to this in the first place.

One cup of coffee – or hot chocolate – and Neal would be gone. He’d walk away and Emma could get on with her life. 

She could do that. 

She needed to do that. 

**_I’ll be out in a second_ ** **.** Emma typed back quickly, ducking out of the locker room and leaning against the hallway of the Garden basement in between photos of Billy Joel and the circus.  **_I’m going to finish filing and then I’ll be done_. **

_ Ok _ . 

“You done, Swan?” Killian asked, walking out of the locker room as well and sticking his phone in his back pocket. 

Emma shook her head. “I should probably file.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Can’t miss a deadline with a boss like ours, huh?” Emma asked, falling in to step next to Killian as they walked back towards the media room. She nudged her elbow into his arm and glanced up – he was smiling at her. 

“I hear he’s a real hard ass.”

“Nah,” Emma contradicted, her heels echoing off the empty stairwell. Killian slowed down staring at her with a look of curiosity on his face. “I hear he’s pretty ok. He’s a pretty incredible reporter, actually.”

“You think so?”

Emma nodded, unable to actually say the words for fear her emotions would actually come pouring out. “Thank you, Swan,” he said softly, taking a step back so he and Emma were on the same stair. 

Neither one of them spoke for a moment and for the second time in the last few weeks, Emma was almost certain Killian was going to kiss her. He didn’t. Instead, her phone went off. 

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, drawing a low laugh from Killian.

_ You coming out soon? _ Neal had texted. Emma pressed her lips together, her teeth pushing up almost painfully. She didn’t answer. Killian, thankfully, pretended not to notice. 

It only took Emma a few more minutes to file her story, stuffing her laptop into her bag quickly as soon as she was done. She slung the bag over her shoulder and stalked across the room, ignoring the near-incessant  _ ding _ of her phone. 

“You have got to turn that thing off, Swan,” Killian muttered, not taking his eyes off his own computer. “Or,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at her and smiling, “tell him to fuck off.”

“Killian!”

“He is a bit impatient.”

“I’m leaving now anyway,” Emma said. “And you know I can’t turn off my phone.”

“You’re leaving?”

“If you’d like to double check, I am all filed,” she said, walking up next to him and leaning against the table where he was working. “There’s a blog post up too and I’ll respond to some more tweets later tonight.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” he answered, turning to face Emma while shutting his laptop screen. “I’ll walk out with you.”

“You’re done?”

“Would  _ you  _ like to double check that I am all filed?”

Emma leaned towards the spot where his computer had been sitting – he had already stuffed half his gear back into his own bag – widening her eyes. “Looks like I’m too late for that.”

Killian rounded on her – his bag on one side of Emma’s body and his left hand resting on the table on the other side – and smirked. “You feel the need to check up on me, Swan?”

“You’re the one who asked.”

He nodded deftly, but didn’t move an inch. In fact, Emma was certain he was getting progressively closer. Or maybe that was just her heart rate speeding up. 

It seemed a perfect moment for her phone to  _ ding _ again. 

Killian sighed, his head falling forward to land on his chest and his hair falling across his forehead, just a few inches away from Emma’s face.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper. He nodded. He also didn’t move. “Killian,” she added, putting her hand on his shoulder. He moved then. In fact, Emma wasn’t convinced his whole body didn’t sag just a bit under her touch. 

“Come on, Swan,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

They walked out in silence, neither one of them willing to meet each other’s eyeline in the stairwell. Emma took a deep breath as soon as her feet hit sidewalk and she heard Neal before she actually saw him. 

“Emma,” he practically shouted, walking up to her. She felt Killian tense up next to her, heard the quiet hitch his breath took as he stared at Neal, whose face betrayed every thought that had passed through his mind while he was waiting for the game to end. 

“Hey,” Emma replied, doing her best to smile. 

He looked at her and lowered his eyebrows. “Are you done finally?”

Emma narrowed her own eyes and took a step back. “What?”

“It took you forever to get out of there.”

“I was working.”

“Uh huh,” Neal said distractedly. “But I mean you knew I was waiting out here Emma. Couldn’t you have left a couple minutes early or something? That way we would have been able to get out of midtown. I mean, I’m practically starving standing out here by myself.”

“We’re just going for coffee, Neal.”

“I thought maybe we could get some food.”

“Coffee.”

Neal took a step back and crossed his arms, his gaze landing on Killian who, it seemed, he had only just realized was there.

“What are you doing here?” Neal asked, unceremoniously. 

“I do work occasionally,” Killian responded. “They played a basketball game here today.”

“I thought you were just the editor.”

“I’ve got a column too.”

“Ah,” Neal nodded, the sarcasm nearly rolling off him in waves. “I knew yours was the more glamorous job.” 

“Alright,” Emma interjected, fed up with whatever messed-up masculine showcase she was watching play out on 7th Avenue. “Enough. Neal, let’s go get coffee.”

Emma turned to Killian, trying to apologize with only her eyes. He didn’t seem to get the message, staring over her right shoulder and practically shooting daggers at Neal. “Killian,” she waved her hand slightly, trying to get his attention. “I’m going to go.”

He nodded, still staring at Neal. “You good?” Emma continued, taking a step forward and touching his forearm. 

That woke him up. 

“I’m good, Swan,” he answered quickly. “Your stuff will be up later tonight, just make sure you tweet it out.”

He was editor-Killian again. That was probably for the best. Emma nodded, tugging on her bag tightly. “I can do that.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Undoubtedly. They want to film on Tuesday again too – before the next series gets underway.”

“Yeah?” Killian smiled. “That sounds good.”

“Good.”

“See you tomorrow.” Emma squeezed Killian’s arm and the look he gave her nearly sent her back a few steps. He smiled at her again, looking at Emma as if she was the most important person on 7th Avenue at the moment. He looked at her like she was the most important person in the world. 

And then he was gone. 

Whiplash. Emma could feel the whiplash. 

“You finally, really, done?” Neal asked as Killian took a few steps away. Emma spun around – doing her best to stay upright on her heels – and stared at him. “You don’t have to do anything or anyone else?”

“What the fuck, Neal?”

“Just curious what exactly your job is Ems.”

“As someone who saw my byline in the actual paper, I’d think that was pretty obvious.”

“Seem to be a few more requirements than just writing or whatever.”

“Writing or whatever?” Emma repeated. 

She had always kind of known – even when she thought she might have even been in love with Neal – that, deep down, he was kind of an asshole. 

There was a reason David always hated him. 

This just proved that point. All those things Neal had known in college, all those places he had been, didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of thing. Emma didn’t care about any of that anymore. 

She just wanted someone to look at her like Killian did. 

“Alright,” Emma said. “Let’s just get this out in the open.”

“Get what out in the open?”

“Why you’re being such a complete ass. You found  _ me _ , Neal. You showed up on the sidewalk. You wanted to get coffee. Why are you being a dick? Even Killian noticed.”

“Ah, well if Killian noticed, it must be an issue.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What’s going on with him, Emma?”  
  
“Nothing,” she responded quickly – too quickly. 

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing is happening. He would tell you that too.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. Then he’d keep trying to get in your pants. Anyone that’s got half a brain could see that.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“It’s obvious.”

Emma made a noise that bordered between a sigh and a groan and took a step back from Neal. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“What are you doing here, Em?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know how important sports are. I mean, really, do that many people care what happened at this game?” He shrugged in the general direction of Madison Square Garden.

“I think so,” Emma said quickly, defense going up automatically. 

“Come on Emma, you can’t really believe that. I mean, you’ve got a degree in journalism from a seriously respected college. You could be doing so much more with your life!”

“So much more? More than writing about things that I enjoy?”

“Yeah, and that’s great. It’s important to like what you do,” Neal conceded. “But isn’t it more important to make a difference? Make some kind of mark on the world so that people remember who we were when we’re gone? Do you really think sports are going to do that for you? It’s not like you’re the one getting all the glory. You’re just writing about the people who are.”

There was smoke coming out of Emma’s ears. Or at least it felt like it. She bit her lip so tightly she drew blood, narrowing her eyes until she could barely even make out where Neal was staring. 

She shouldn’t have done this – David had been right. She should have walked by Neal when he showed up on the sidewalk, refused to look in his direction or listen to a single word he said. 

Except she hadn’t. And now she was stunned silent on 7th Avenue, trying desperately not to feel like an eight-year-old orphan that no one wanted or believed in. 

“You can’t tell me you’re completely happy Emma. I know you, probably better than anyone. You wanted more than this. You wanted to be the one in charge, not answering to some pretty-boy editor.”

“Killian’s not like that,” Emma replied weakly.

Neal laughed. “Spare me,” he said. “That’s exactly what Killian is like. He’s so used to getting his own way and being fawned over, that the concept of it not happening doesn’t even go through his mind. And you’re falling right into his trap Em. You’re falling into a rut.”

Emma felt her shoulders sag. She wanted to fight back. She should have fought back. She just couldn’t come up with the words. 

Neal, however, was far from finished. 

“This isn’t journalism. This is fluff,” he continued, seemingly picking up steam with every insult he lobbed her way. “You can get the same information you’re spending hours writing about from a box score. You’re helping to support the culture that idolizes athletes and celebrities like they’re God or something. These are just people, with extraordinary talents sure, but people just the same. And they’re paid millions of dollars to play a sport. They’re not saving the world! Then you go and do them the honor of reporting about them.”

“Excuse me?” asked a voice Emma thought had left ten minutes ago. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder to see Killian standing behind her, his expression furious.

Emma instinctively stepped out of the way, making a clear path between Killian and Neal. 

He had dropped his blazer on the sidewalk as he strode closer to Neal, his eyes practically blazing as he stared straight ahead. 

“Killian,” Emma said, picking up the discarded jacket. He ignored her. He had already walked past her and was standing a few inches in front of Neal who stared readily back at him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Killian asked Neal.

Emma glanced between the two of them as everything suddenly hit her – Killian had heard. He had heard Neal talk about them, heard the accusations he had thrown at her, all of it. 

Fuck. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Neal said. Emma noticed his voice shook slightly. He put up a good façade of being brave, but she knew he was terrified of Killian.

“How could you say that?”

“What are you talking about?” Neal asked.

Killian took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder back at Emma. She bit her lip. He blinked a few times before directed his gaze back to Neal.

The two of them stood stock still for another moment before Killian lifted his right arm and punched Neal in the jaw.

Emma’s mouth fell open, but she couldn’t even find enough air in her lungs to properly gasp. She clamped her hands over her mouth, dropping the blazer again in the process. Her eyes were practically falling out of her head.

Neal was on the ground. He was actually laying on the ground. Emma was almost certain he was moaning a little bit too. She stared at him, with his hand holding onto his jaw tightly and his eyes closed in pain.

Killian stood exactly where he had been the whole time, shaking his hand slightly on his side.

Emma was frozen. She might have been going into shock.

“Ow,” Kilian muttered half to himself. That caught her attention. Emma took the few steps closer to him and smacked his arm with all the strength she could muster.

In the grand scheme of things, it hadn’t been much of a smack. 

But it had been the best Emma could do and, all things considered, she was impressed she had even been able to move, let alone muster any sort of force behind a sudden decision for violence. 

Killian turned to look at her the moment Emma’s hand collided with the fabric of his shirt. He still looked mad, but there was also a little bit of fear in his eyes – he was afraid of Emma. 

Emma grabbed the coat again and – with agility only a former baseball player could have – he  caught it one-handed. Emma shook her head slightly and he kept staring at her, that same look of fear in his eyes.

“Are you ok?” she asked Neal, bending over to hold her hand out to him.

“No!” he cried, taking Emma’s hand and standing back up. “That asshole just punched me in the jaw!”

Emma pressed the tips of her fingers onto the bridge of her nose. She was seeing spots in front of her eyes and there was a ringing in her ears.  “Alright,” she said with an obvious forced calm. “Now, this is what’s going to happen. Neal, you are going to go home.”

“What?” he asked. Emma held up her hand to silence him, but didn’t actually look at him.

“You’re going to go home, forget going to back to work, forget taking me to get coffee. Go home and put ice on your jaw and then go to bed. Try not to insult anyone else while you’re walking there.”

Neal made a face and stared at her for a few moments before sighing and nodding once.

“Good,” Emma said.

He managed to sneak in one final glare in Killian’s direction before setting off down the sidewalk, heading back uptown.

“Swan…” Killian started, but Emma held up her hand to him too, pushing it in his face in a way she hadn’t done to Neal. He stopped talking.

Emma turned to look at him, surprised there weren’t lasers shooting out her eyes. He took a few steps back. The only emotion on his face now was complete and utter fear.

“Can you please tell me who you think you are?” Emma asked quietly.

She heard him take a deep breath – his shoulders moved under the weight of it. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t know who you are?”

“Not completely, no.”

“Then, please, enlighten, me as to what gives you the right to go around punching people for the hell of it.”

“It wasn’t for the hell of it,” Killian hissed. Emma raised my eyebrows.

“Oh yeah? What was it then? To prove something? Because let me be the first to tell you, the only thing you proved was what a complete Neanderthal you are. I don’t even know how you can think that that would have been ok.”

“Swan, I didn’t think it was ok but just listen…”

“No! Don’t  _ Swan _ me. There’s nothing for me to listen to. I’m your co-worker Killian, you can’t just go around punching people in my life because you feel like it. That’s going to make working together incredibly uncomfortable.”

“I know that. I had a reason though.”

“Yeah? Because I can’t seem to think of one that would be a plausible excuse for what you just did.”

“You make it sound like I committed murder,” Killian muttered, tilting his head and smirking at her. He was pulling out the metaphorical big guns for this one. “Alright, I admit it, I hit him. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did and it’s over now.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Only because you’re making it this difficult.”

“I’m not making it anything!” Emma was yelling now, full-scale screaming. “Did you see Neal, Killian? He was laying on the sidewalk!’

“It is not my fault that a grown man cannot take one punch.”

She threw her hands in the air and screamed. Killian reached out like he was going to hold onto her arms, but Emma moved before he could.

She tried to take a breath, but only managed to start huffing. “Alright,” Emma said quickly, starting to pace inside the little square of sidewalk she had been standing in. “This is what’s going to happen now. I am going home.  You” Emma pointed at him, pushing the point of her finger up against his chest. “Are also going to go home. While there you are going to calm down. At some point you will get some sleep. On Monday I will give you Neal’s phone number and you can come up with some sort of excuse as to your current state of insanity and you will apologize for punching him in the jaw. Then we can forget this ever happened and make every attempt to act as normal, respectable coworkers from now on.  Any questions?”

Killian nodded. “If you would just wait two minutes I could explain to you what that current state of insanity, as you put it, was all about.”

“That is not a question and I am not interested.”

“Not at all?”

“No.” That was a lie.

“When do you think you will be interested?”

“Never.” That was also a lie.

“I doubt it.”

Emma sighed and shook her head. “Leave it alone Killian. I’m going home.”

She turned down the block in the opposite direction Neal had left in, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. Emma heard footsteps behind her the moment she started to walk and looked back over her shoulder to find Killian following. He had put his coat back on again.

“What are you doing?”  Emma practically screeched. “You’re not following the plan.”

“Forgive me Swan, but it wasn’t a very good plan.”

“It would be if you followed it.”

“I figured at some point you’d probably like some kind of explanation.”

“I’m just trying to go home.”

“And I’m just trying to prove I’m not mentally unstable. I’m gonna follow you until you listen.”

“Stalking me 50 blocks downtown isn’t doing much to help your case. You’re not going to just let this go? Even when I had a plan?”

Killian shook his head, smiling slightly. “No,” he said. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be walking by yourself back home; especially when I am perfectly capable of making sure you get back safe.”

“I’m also perfectly capable of getting back to my apartment alone. I do it all the time. It is also the middle of the afternoon.”

“You never know what’s lurking around the corner.”

“Like you? Waiting to punch someone?”

“Not funny.”

“Hysterical, actually.”

“Just walk, love. I’ll follow and sooner or later you’ll have to listen to me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Emma mumbled, turning back down the street.

“Yeah, but I’m nice to have around.”

She scoffed, not saying anything. It was enough though. Emma needed to stop lying so much.

He followed her the whole way. Fifty blocks. 

He wouldn’t leave. 

It wasn’t really fair – Emma knew he lived somewhere in the general vicinity of her apartment – so he had to go this way too, but in a normal world she was also certain Killian wouldn’t have walked 50 blocks home.

“Are we almost there Swan?” he whined, staying a few steps behind her. 

“You could have taken the train,” Emma responded, glancing over her shoulder and raising her eyebrows. “You’re the one who didn’t follow the plan.”

“I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

“And yet we’ve covered most of Manhattan in silence.”

“It’s really only about a third of Manhattan.”

“Semantics.” Emma turned a corner, coming up in front of her and Mary Margaret’s apartment and rummaging in her bag for her keys. “Anyway, we are here.”

“Why didn’t you take the train?”

Emma shrugged, shining her phone above her bag as she still tried to find her keys. “I never do. I like walking.”

“You walk that every day?”

“Not in the morning. But if I get out early enough, sure. Why?”

“It’s just a long way,” he answered, running his hand through his hair. “Something could happen.”

“You really going to pull that ‘I care’ card again after today?” Emma bit back, shaking her bag slightly. She heard Killian suck in breath before she even looked up. Damn. Emma looked up slowly. 

He had taken a step back, hands firmly stuffed in his pockets as he rolled back on his heels. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Then let me explain,” he said slowly, walking back towards her until Emma nearly tripped over the bottom step leading up to her door. 

Emma nodded. “Explain.”

“I do care. Probably more than I should, if I’m being honest. And I don’t like seeing you upset, Swan, particularly when I’m the reason for it. “ He leaned his shoulder against the side of the building and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I promised I would make this easier for you love,” his voice catching a bit on that final word. “That promise extends out of office, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware that promise required you to get violent. I mean, you really punched him in the face Killian! This is not 1952 – you can’t just go around hitting people for no good reason. I’m surprised you didn’t challenge him to a duel or something. You know, meet him at dawn on 7th Ave, see who can draw first. God, how can you not expect me to be mad?”

Killian raised his eyes and stared at Emma with a look that seemed to beg understanding.

“Swan, you’ve got to try and understand…” he started.

Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “What Killian? What exactly is it that I so desperately have to understand?”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t even move. He just narrowed his eyes and stared at Emma as if she were the only person in a 100-foot radius. 

“You’re overreacting,” he said slowly and with an obvious attempt at calm.

“You punched my ex-boyfriend!” Emma screamed, throwing her hands in the air and hitting her bag on her hip bone. “You punched him Killian! I don’t know if I could be under-reacting about something like that.”

“He deserved it.”

Emma tilted her head to the side and made a face. “He deserved it? For what? You’re sure it wasn’t just a sad attempt to exercise some kind of mad need to prove yourself; reclaim some lost glory?”

Killian froze and Emma knew she had crossed the line. They didn’t talk about him getting hurt – hadn’t since David had grilled him in the living room – and it just seemed like an unspoken rule. He rubbed his left hand and Emma was certain he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. 

“You don’t get it at all, do you?” he asked.

“No,” Emma admitted. “I thought you were all intent on explaining it to me.”

“He couldn’t say those things to you.”  
  
“I can take care of myself.” 

For the first time in a very long time though, Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to. For the first time in a very long time, she found herself almost wanting to depend on someone else – to let someone else in, to let someone else  _ care _ . 

“I have no doubt you can, Swan,” he answered easily. “But there’s no harm in having a few allies as well. You’re...well, you’re important love. He couldn’t say those things to you.”

Emma blinked, her fingernails cutting into her palm as she gripped her bag with every ounce of strength she had. “Important?” she whispered. 

Killian nodded slowly, staring at her intently. “The way…he was talking to you…” he continued. “You’re important to…well you’re important Swan. He wasn’t right.”

She hadn’t said anything. She wasn’t even certain she was still breathing. But she was standing, so that seemed like a pretty good sign. “Don’t look at me like that,” Killian said softly.

“Like what?” 

“You’re looking at me like you think I’m insane and also a little bit like you’re absolutely furious at me.”

“I’m not mad – at least not as mad as I was.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, Swan.”

“I just don’t understand the need to get physically violent.”

“I had to do something.”

“You couldn’t talk to him?”

“He’d done enough talking. I don’t care who the hell he is or was in your life. He couldn’t talk to you like that. You don’t deserve to be talked to like that.”

“What?” Emma said sharply, her heart in her throat. 

“You deserve to know how talented you are Swan. You’re doing good work here and, well, more to the point, you’re good – down to your toes.”

“And you think you’re the one to do that, point that out?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“Not in so many words.”

“What words would you like then?”  
  
“The truth would be nice,” Emma muttered, crouching down to start the search for her keys again. 

Killian rolled his eyes and Emma huffed slightly. “God,” he mumbled, bending at his knees and lightly grabbing her forearm, pulling Emma up so that she was standing straight again. 

She had found her keys – easily, once her bag was on the ground – but dropped them as soon as her eyes met Killian’s. 

Without letting go of her arm he took several steps forward, forcing Emma to move against the brick wall of the building. The stone pressed against her spine and she instinctively recoiled against it, effectively pushing her hips into his.

Killian let go of her arm and looked straight at her. Emma took a deep breath through her nose, and stared back, holding her ground. His hand wrapped around her hand that had just dropped the keys, entwining his fingers through hers.

Emma blinked. Killian didn’t look away. He seemed to be incredibly sure of himself.

“The truth,” he whispered, his eyes wide and certain. “Is that you are phenomenal, love. And if that asshole couldn’t see that, he deserved to get punched in the face – several times.”

“Thank you.”

“What?” 

Emma smiled – if she could surprise him still, it almost felt as if she were in control of the situation. “Thank you,” she repeated. 

It took a moment, but Killian realized what she meant and smiled at her, the effect reaching his eyes and making Emma’s breath hitch. He leaned back slightly and looked at her appraisingly. She could tell exactly the moment things changed. 

The smile – which only moments before had been so certain, so undeniably genuine – was a smirk and those same wide-eyes were practically laughing at her. Emma’s teeth tugged on her lip and she pulled her hand out of Killian’s – with as much force as she could muster. 

He stared at the few inches of open air between them, before looking at back up at her. “Is that all defending your honor is worth to you?” he asked, sticking his bottom lip out slightly. 

“That’s what the ‘thank you' was for. Both times.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian replied, unconvinced. He stared at her again, teeth tugging on his lip and Emma felt as if every nerve in her body was on fire. 

“Please, you couldn’t handle it.” 

They were standing precariously close to the edge of some sort of metaphorical knife and Emma knew – without a shred of doubt – that the next few seconds were going to decide quite a few things about her relationship – or lack thereof – with Killian Jones. He lifted one eyebrow slowly. 

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together slightly, her mind going haywire. Killian didn’t move an inch. 

Emma blinked again and, suddenly, there was only one thing left to do – she reached forward, grabbed him by his collar and, very soundly, kissed him. 

He made some sort of noise that vaguely resembled surprise, but Emma ignored it, focused only on the feel of him next to her, on his hand in her hair and his left hand around her waist. 

Killian moved forward, leaning closer into her and pressed Emma’s back into the wall again. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t let go of his collar, using it as leverage to pull herself closer and running her own hand through his hair. 

He was very good at this. 

Too good. 

Emma couldn’t breathe. 

For a moment she didn’t care. For a moment this was the only thing that mattered. He was the only thing that mattered. 

Killian tilted his head and Emma wasn’t sure she had ever kissed someone like this. He was everywhere all at once, crowding into her space and into her life like he had since she had run him over outside the elevators. 

He stumbled forward slightly, breathing heavily and Emma’s stomach sank. It was over and now she couldn’t breathe for a whole other slew of reasons – none of them professional. Killian, for his part, looked as wrecked as Emma felt, the hair on the back of his head sticking up in all angles from her running her fingers through it. 

He blinked twice at her, his mouth open slightly as if he was in shock. “That was…”

“A one time thing,” Emma said quickly. 

Killian’s shoulders sagged. Emma’s breath left her chest in a huff and she steeled herself for what she had to do. 

“We can’t,” she said softly.

“Why?”

“Killian,” she chastised. “You know why.”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“We work together. You assign me stories. You punched Neal in the face an hour ago.”

He laughed and shook his head, trying – pointlessly, it seemed – to try and fix his hair. “Somehow we always land on the punching the ex-boyfriend in the face don’t we?”

“It seems to be the crux of the problem at hand.”

“No, the crux of the problem at hand seems to be that you didn’t want to keep kissing me.”

Emma’s jaw dropped, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She also couldn’t agree, that wasn’t the problem. The problem really was that Emma had wanted to keep kissing him. 

And she couldn’t do that. 

“That’s…”

“It’s ok Swan, I get understand.”

“No you don’t! I didn’t mean it like…”

“I understand, love. Listen, I should probably go.”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Emma nodded. Killian bent down and picked up the keys, handing them to Emma and brushing his fingers against her palm. “I think you dropped these,” he said. 

“Thanks.”

He nodded in response and Emma was certain he was going to walk away, but he surprised her, leaning forward instead and quickly kissing her on the cheek. “You’re important to me Swan,” he whispered. “That’s why I punched him.”

Emma barely had time to breathe – let alone respond – before he had turned away, already halfway down the block by the time she looked up. She leaned back against the side of the building, shutting her eyes. 

It only took a few tries to open the door. 

She could hear Mary Margaret moving around the apartment before she walked in and Emma knew she wasn’t going to be able to make it to her room without answering a few questions. She did her best to flatten her hair. 

“Emma!” Mary Margaret greeted her, turning around as the door shut. “How was the game? Did they win? How was coffee?”

“The game was good. They did win. There was no coffee.”

Emma dropped her keys on the table, stepped out of her shoes and, finally, met Mary Margaret’s gaze. Her friend was staring at her as if she was seeing her for the first time. 

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What happened? You look like you’ve been running or something. Your face is all flushed. And did you say no coffee?”

“We didn’t go get coffee.”

“Why not?” 

Emma sighed, walking towards the coach and collapsing in the corner – Mary Margaret followed, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “A few things happened,” Emma mumbled.

“What kind of things?”

“I was going to go for coffee and I met Neal outside, but, I don’t know, M’s, he started talking and it was bad. He was...well he was being an ass, but I thought Killian had already left. And he hadn’t. He heard everything. And he got mad. Like really, really mad.”

“Did he yell at him?.”

“No, he punched him.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She clasped her hands across her mouth and screamed. “What?”

“Exactly what I just told you. Killian punched Neal. He’s got quite a right hook for a guy who sits behind a desk most of the day.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But that doesn’t explain where you’ve been this whole time. What happened after that?”

Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth, suddenly nervous. “I kissed him.”

If Emma had thought Mary Margaret’s reaction before had been impressive, it was nothing compared to this. She practically leapt off the couch. “Who? Killian? Emma are you serious? What does that mean? How did it happen?”

“I don’t know M’s. He followed me home, he wanted to explain why he hit Neal and then he was talking about how I deserved to know how important I was and, I don’t know. I wanted to kiss him and I did.”

“You wanted to?” Emma nodded. “So,” Mary Margaret continued. “What now?”

“I have no idea. I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“What did he say? What did he  _ do _ ?”

“He kissed me back. A lot. And then he told me I was important to him and he left.”

“He left?”

“Yuh huh.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Probably because I told him it was a one-time thing.”

Mary Margaret groaned, leaning her head on the back of the couch. “Emma! Why would you do that?”

“I can’t fuck this up, M’s,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say anything beyond that. 

Mary Margaret reached out and touched Emma’s knee, staring at her with a look of sympathy that practically broke her heart. “You’re not going to do that, Emma. Killian cares about you. I know he does. And now you do too. You’re allowed to want things.”

“Not this,” Emma argued. “If this goes bad, everything will be over.”

Mary Margaret did her best to smile encouragingly, but even Emma knew she couldn’t come up something to say. “It’s ok, M’s,” Emma said. “I almost know what I’m doing.”

“Was it at least a good kiss?”

Emma nodded. “The best.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am constantly stunned by the response to this story and the wonderful comments and kudos and it's so nice I could hug you all - very tightly. So consider this your hug and your thank you in the form of another absurdly long chapter. We're progressing! Things are happening! We're still burning, but there has been kissing! Thanks for sticking with me on the way to this. You guys are delightful.


	20. Chapter 20

She didn’t sleep.

She tried – really – but she couldn’t turn off her mind. She couldn’t get the image of Killian’s right hand colliding with Neal’s face out of her mind. She couldn’t get the feeling of his arm wrapped tightly around her waist out of her mind. And, most frustratingly, she couldn’t get stop picturing how he looked when he pulled away from her – like he had never been outside before and was only now, finally, seeing the sun.

Then she told him it was _a one-time thing_.

Emma groaned, rolling over to shut off her alarm before it went off unnecessarily. She hadn’t slept.

She did, however, consider texting him – several times. She must have picked up her phone half a dozen times during the course of the night, but decided, somewhere in the realm of 4:30, that she couldn’t.

Or, more to the point, she shouldn’t.

 _Boss boss boss boss boss_.

Emma groaned again, briefly considering just calling out of work.

No, she wouldn’t do that. That was why she had made sure whatever moment she and Killian had on her front steps the day before had ended as quickly as it began – to maintain some of those invisible barriers she had put up so she could write without becoming a _New York Record_ gossip-magnet.

The only problem with that, however, was Emma couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked when he walked away, how his eyes had ducked hers, his shoulders not quite as straight when he left.

Emma thought she had known exactly who Killian Jones was – former baseball star, chock-full of sarcasm and bravado and a lack of self-confidence she wasn't sure anyone noticed except her. But yesterday had proved something else. Killian Jones was all of those things, sure, but Emma knew – in the core of her being – that there was something else there, something – _someone_ – he wanted her to know, but was vaguely terrified of her finding out.

No wonder she didn’t sleep.

Leroy barely said a word to Emma as she handed over her ID, still slightly terrified after her blow-up in the lobby a few weeks ago. Emma did her best to smile at him, but she knew it had turned into more of a grimace.

She was nervous.

This was absurd. Emma didn’t get nervous – about anything. Not interviews or deadlines or moving into new foster homes when she was a kid. She certainly didn’t get nervous about Killian Jones.

Or so she had thought. That didn’t seem to be the case now.

Emma weaved her way across the sports floor, keeping her eyes trained on the floor as she made her way to her desk. She all but collapsed in the chair, tossing her bag on the floor.

It was quiet for all of two minutes before Emma heard Will call her name from several desks away. She sighed, shutting her eyes lightly before getting up.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“You ok?” he asked, eyebrows drawing low in concern. Emma nodded. “So, how was the game? You’re a bit of a good-luck charm for them now, huh? They haven’t lost since you started this whole series.”

Emma nodded again. “So it would seem.”

“Hey,” Will said quickly, reaching out to touch Emma’s hand. She flinched and bit back a groan, noticing the look on Will’s face. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? You should be through the roof – an NBA championship series, Emma, c’mon.”

“I know, I know,” Emma muttered. “I really am excited.”

“But…”

“But I’ve got a lot of other stuff on my mind.”

Will stared at her skeptically. “What could possibly be more important than a championship series?”

“There are things.”

“You know, that’s almost exactly what Killian said.”

Emma’s stomach dropped and she felt as if all the oxygen had flown out of the room. “What?’ she asked, practically whispering the word.

“Killian said the same thing when I asked him.”

“Killian’s here?” Emma said sharply, glancing over to his very empty office.

Will nodded slowly, eyes wide and Emma could practically feel him trying to process everything that was going on. Good luck with that, she thought. “Yeah,” he answered. “He was already here when I got here and that was like an hour ago. I couldn’t tell you the last time Killian got here that early.”

Emma bit back a sigh and looked over at the office again – it didn’t even look like he had opened the door yet. “Do you know where he went?” she asked.

“Yeah, he left a note on his door.” Will nodded towards the office and the small post-it note that Emma had completely overlooked. She grabbed it off the door, reading – _If anyone calls or texts me for anything other than the entire building burning down, they won’t get a byline for a month. At least._

“This doesn’t say where he went,” Emma pointed out.

“Oh, I thought that was obvious,” Will continued. Emma just widened her eyes. “He went to the cave – you know the old photo room in the back corner? No one ever goes back there except for Killian. I’d bet a good amount of money that’s exactly where he is.”

“More bets? Weren’t you on the losing end last time?”

“I’ve moved past that, Emma. I’m just happy for you now. I’d bet another ten that you’ll find Killian in the cave, though.”

“That’s ok, Will, I believe you,” Emma said, turning towards the back corner of the office.

“Hey!” he shouted back at her. “Didn’t you read the note? A month of bylines, Emma! You’re taking your journalistic life into your hands.”

Emma shrugged and kept walking, not even turning her head back to look at Will when she yelled. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

She heard Will mutter something along the lines of _not listening_  and _he left a note_ , but Emma was determined. She was exhausted – but she was also determined.

Emma had never really spent much time in this corner of the office – directly opposite of where her desk sat – and she wasn’t sure anyone except Killian had been in the actual photo room in years. The door was closed when she walked up, but she could see the dark room light inching out slightly underneath.

He was definitely in there. Good thing Emma hadn’t taken Will up on his bet – she would have been out ten dollars.

She did her best to take a deep breath – it didn’t really work – and swung open the door.

“Killian,” she said, her voice barely reaching above a whisper.

Emma heard him sigh before she saw him and then _she_ almost sighed once she did. He was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up in front of him and a book resting on his legs. He had headphones in – Emma didn’t think he even realized she was there – and a Louisville baseball t-shirt on. His hair was sticking up in nearly every direction – as if he couldn’t stop running his hands through it – and he looked about as exhausted as Emma felt.

He looked good.

“Killian,” Emma repeated, slightly louder. He nearly fell over, jerking his head up to stare at her wide-eyed and slightly terrified.

“Jesus Christ, Swan,” he muttered, pulling the headphones out of his ears. “Give a man some warning before you try and kill him, huh?”

“I did say your name more than once.”

“You did?”

“You looked slightly preoccupied.”

“Didn’t I leave some sort of note on my door that threatened no bylines for a month unless the building was burning down?”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“And is the building burning down?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“But you decided to break the rules anyway?”

Emma rolled her eyes, sinking down to sit next to him. “I wasn’t aware one post-it note meant it was a hard fast rule.”

His head fell over onto his shoulder and Emma didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smiling. “Haven’t you heard, Swan? I’m very in charge here. I could just think something and it would be a rule.”

“I’m glad to see you haven’t let that kind of power go straight to your head.” He laughed quietly and nudged his shoulder into hers. “You look tired,” Emma continued.

“Rude. You can’t just throw out insults like that, love.”

“Just an observation.”

“Ah, well, if it’s just an observation, then I’d have to tell you that you are correct.”

“You ok?” Emma asked, doing her best not to let one single question sound like the most important two words in the entire world.

“Sure.”

“Killian…”

“I’m not sure what you came here to talk about Swan, but I can promise you I am completely fine. Tired – as you were so kind to point out – but also fine.”

“I didn’t sleep very well either,” she mumbled.

That caught him off guard. Emma felt his body jerk forward as he moved to look at her. He stared at her for a beat, eyes wide and ridiculously blue. “No?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a loaded question and you know it.”

“I do – that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate an answer.”

Emma sighed. “I don’t know that you’re going to get the answer you want.”

“I’d settle for you talking to me,” Killian said, still staring at Emma. She wished he’d stop doing that with his eyes – looking at her like she was the only person in the world who could possibly understand him. There was no sarcasm. There were no jokes. There was just Killian and, truth be told, that terrified Emma. “Don’t friends talk?”

“Are we friends?”

Killian groaned, slamming the book that was still leaning on knees shut with a force that took Emma by surprise. “The fact that you have to ask that troubles me,” he said, standing up and crossing his arms. “I thought we had agreed on that point weeks ago.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Killian wasn’t finished yet. “I’m not sure what else you want from me, Swan. Either you trust me – as your friend – or you don’t. There’s no in between.”

“I do trust you.”

Killian stopped moving, raising one eyebrow at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then please, Swan, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Emma admitted. “I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“Because of…” Killian trailed off, but Emma knew what he meant. Because of the kiss. Because of the _makeout_. Emma nodded, trying to smile.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“Is that why you ran away to some never-used dark room?”

“I suppose,” Killian shrugged. “I might be a bit overwhelmed too, Swan.” He looked like was admitting to some sort of felony and Emma knew – with the utmost certainty – that she had just discovered another facet of Killian Jones.

Killian Jones liked order. He liked knowing what he was getting himself into. He had in baseball, he had in writing, he even had it in directing the entire sports section of _The New York Record_. He didn’t have that in Emma.

Emma wasn’t a sure thing.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, staring at her shoes. She was still sitting on the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said, crouching in front of her and placing his hand lightly on her knee. “You’ve just caught me by surprise a bit, Swan.” The words settled in Emma’s chest and her heart stuttered just a bit.

“Well, that makes two of us,” she said, repeating his words. He grinned at her, tightening his hold her knee. She put her hand over his and matched Killian’s smile with one of her own. “What now?”

“Now? Now we go back to work. The higher-ups want to film again tomorrow. That ok?”

“Of course,” Emma nodded. “We were good before, right? We could do that again.”

“I know so. I think we quite the team, Swan.”

“That might be true.”

Killian smiled again, standing back up and offering Emma his hand. “C’mon Swan,” he said. “It’s time to stop hiding.”

Emma wrapped her fingers around his – ignoring the heat of his hand and the rush that went through her entire body when he touched her – standing up so she was only a few inches away from Killian.

This was good. This was right. _Friends_. They could be friends. She could be friends with her very attractive boss – the same one she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing again. She could.

So they hadn’t really talked about it – they didn’t have to. In fact, she rationalized, it was probably best that they didn’t. Ignore and move on.

That was always how Emma had operated.

Killian glanced back at her as he opened the door and she knew everything she had just thought was a lie. He looked just as exhausted as he had when she first walked in, but now there was a distinct air of disappointment around him, as if he had been hoping for something and didn’t even come remotely close to getting it.

“You coming, love?” he asked, quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

She nodded once before moving out the door, Killian following and half a dozen eyes focused solely on them as they walked back into the office.

* * *

Emma got through the rest of the day without falling asleep, crying or otherwise mentally breaking down at her desk, so she considered it all a success.

Killian had barely said two words to her the rest of the day – the endless parade of reporters going in and out of his office a testament to just how busy he was.

Mary Margaret had done her best to send encouraging texts throughout the day, padding Emma’s confidence that she was still wholly in control of the situation.

It was a lie – a nice one, but still a lie.

Emma practically sprinted away from her desk when she filed her last story, even taking the train home to make it back as quickly as she possibly could. She wanted to lay down. Or maybe complain to Mary Margaret for several hours.

Turned out, Emma didn’t have much of a choice. She had no more than opened the door before Mary Margaret was standing in front of her, a sympathetic look on her face and two glasses of wine in her hands.

“I love you,” Emma mumbled automatically, dropping everything in her hands next to the door and taking the glass. “I’ll pick that up later.”  
  
“I know you will. I _almost_ don’t care about that now. Drink. Talk.”

Emma took a drink – as instructed – and followed Mary Margaret to the couch. She could smell the onion rings in the oven already. Killian had been right, Mary Margaret really was a saint.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Emma asked, pulling her feet up underneath her and leaning her head on the couch.

Mary Margaret just laughed. “You didn’t do anything. You’re just you Emma, that’s enough.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Mary Margaret said, her voice automatically going into teacher-discipline mode. “You’re allowed to have people who love you Emma.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Mary Margaret leaned forward, smiling at Emma and wrapping her hand around her forearm. “It’s ok to trust people.”

“You know that’s the second time someone has said that to me today.”

“Yeah?”

Emma nodded. “We talked.”

“I figured as much. You want to tell me what happened?”

“Not much, honestly. He wasn’t in his office when I got to work. He was hiding out in some unused darkroom. We both talked about how we didn’t sleep last night and he said the higher-ups wanted to film tomorrow and then said something about us making a good team and that was it.”

“Hold on,” Mary Margaret said. “He was in a darkroom?”

“Yeah, you know like for pictures?”

“I know what a darkroom is. I’m just pointing out that he wasn’t in his office for a reason. Emma,” she continued patiently. “He’s scared. He sounds like one of my third graders, honestly. Nervous about talking to the girl he likes so he runs off to the corner.”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know what to do, M’s.”

Mary Margaret looked at her appraisingly. “That’s a lie. You know what you want to do.”

“He was very good at kissing,” Emma mumbled.

“I figured he would be.”

“Is that a thing you’ve thought a lot about? Is David aware of that?”

“You know what I mean. Killian’s not unattractive.”

“He knows it too.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you kiss him?”

That caught Emma short. She bit her lip, considering her answer before deciding – quite easily – to go with the truth. “I wanted to,” she said, repeating her words from the night before. 

“Why?”

“Two questions,” Emma pointed out. Mary Margaret just raised her eyebrows. “I like him, M’s. Not just because he’s good looking. He’s good at what he does and he cares about what he writes. He’s worked so hard since he started and he just wants to do a good job.”

“I don’t know...there’s something going on with him,” she continued. “I know there’s something he’s not telling me and I can’t figure out what it is. Jerry – you know the coffee guy – he mentioned that Killian’s first job ended with this tough situation and he hasn’t told me what it is. I think it’s got something to do with his brother.”

“He’s got a brother?”

“He mentioned him the the first day we talked, but not much since. He didn’t want Killian to get in the car when he got hurt. There’s something going on here, M’s and I’m going to figure it out.”

“So it’s just an investigation?”

“No,” Emma shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I mean. I _want_ to know.” Mary Margaret stared at her as if she had never really seen her before.

“What?” Emma asked.

“You two have certainly backed yourselves into some kind of situation haven’t you?”

“He said we’re friends.”

“That’s a defense mechanism, Emma. He literally ran away to avoid you at work the day after you kissed him. He’s not trying to push you into anything.”  
  
“He’s also keeping some secrets.”

“Everyone is entitled to secrets Emma,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “Did you tell him everything about Neal?”

“No.”

Mary Margaret nodded at her as if this proved her point. Emma glanced down at her glass, realizing belatedly that she had drank all of her wine. She wasn’t quite sure how that had happened.

“I know you can’t do anything now – won’t do anything now,” Mary Margaret said, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. “But I don’t think either of you can run away from this either.”

“No more darkrooms, huh?”

“No more darkrooms.”

“I know,” Emma agreed. “Enough about this – tell me about camp today. I want all the latest gossip on the third-grade circuit.”  
  
Mary Margaret laughed – pulling out the bread for the grilled cheese Emma already knew she was going to make – and launched into a detailed story of Kevin-the-entitled whose Upper West Side parents had decreed he wasn’t allowed to join in “sprinkler time” because of some sort of water-born disease threat.

Emma leaned back into the couch, letting the story distract her for a few hours.

Unfortunately, the distraction couldn’t last all night and by the time Emma walked towards her room, she felt dead on her feet. She all but dragged herself to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress when she heard her phone ding in her pocket.

Emma groaned yanking her phone out and unlocking the screen – one new e-mail. She briefly considered ignoring it – it was almost midnight, she couldn’t do much of anything now – but knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without checking it. And Emma really needed the sleep.

 

To: [ emma.swan@recordsports.com ](mailto:emma.swan@recordsports.com)

From: [ killian.jones@recordsports.com ](mailto:killian.jones@recordsports.com)

Subject: …male chauvinism and complete stupidity

 

Swan,

Here we are again. E-mail apologies and apologies for the e-mail apologies because I was too scared to actually talk to you face-to-face like some sort of slightly normal human being.

I wanted to talk about it. We _needed_ to talk about it, but then I got to the paper and you weren’t there yet and I lost my mind a bit.

So, here we are again – hiding in darkrooms and falling back on electronic communication.

It’s almost easier this way. Almost.

If I were a braver man, I would have told you to your face that the reason I couldn’t sleep at all last night was because I was far too preoccupied trying to brand every single moment in front of your apartment into my memory. That if I actually fell asleep I might forget some detail or lose the way it felt to actually have you trust me for a few moments.

I don’t want to forget that.

Because for those few moments in front of your apartment, things were, well they were good.

I wasn’t lying when I told you you were important to me Swan. That’s true. And I haven’t had that in a very long time – someone who was really and truly important.

I don’t want to fuck this up and, to be honest, I’m slightly terrified that I already have.

So we don’t actually have to talk about it. We can forget it completely if you want, but I do want you to know that if _it_ ever happens again, it won’t happen because I’ve punched your ex-boyfriend in the face or lost my mind in some mad display of male chauvinism. It will be because you want me.

\- Killian

 

Emma read it again. And a third time. It didn’t change.

Her heart thumped in her chest – an almost painful reminder that this was really happening – and she slumped further into the mattress, her phone falling out of her hand along the way.

She wasn’t aware that sentiments like that – even in their e-mail form – actually existed in the real world. In fact, Emma was fairly certain David had never even come close to that kind of romance and David was the king of sentimentality.

The problem with all of that, however, was that Emma already wanted him – badly. And she had for awhile. That’s why she had kissed him.

But he was, technically, her boss and no matter how much emotion he could pour into those absurdly blue eyes, that wasn’t going to change.

Emma reread the e-mail again – fourth time now – and realized she had been right about one thing – there was much more to Killian Jones than met the eye. And Emma was fairly certain there was a lot most history behind that one sentence  – _I haven’t had that in a very long time_ – than he was letting on.

Well, he could keep secrets if he wanted – Emma was a journalist. She’d figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me – hiding behind my computer screen and only slightly peeking out because I used the word 'friends' again. I'm sorry guys. Almost entirely. Because I live in a pool of pining and angst and messed-up feelings that can't get resolved quite that quickly. Also did I mention that this is long? Because it's a super long story. So things will get better. That I entirely promise. 
> 
> Also, I've decided to completely throw myself into the fandom pool and actually made a Tumblr, so come flail with me at: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com
> 
> As always, thank you for all the clicks, comments and kudos. They're fantastic.


	21. Chapter 21

“You’ve actually answered your phone!”

Emma smiled at the voice on the other end of the line, leaning back against her desk chair and pulling her hair to the side. “Hello, Ingrid,” she said patiently. 

“I can’t believe this. What have I done to get so lucky to talk to world-famous sports reporter Emma Swan today?”

“Alright,” Emma groaned. “I know. I know. I’ve been busy Ingrid. They’re getting ready for a championship series here.”

“I know sweetheart, I was only teasing. I really am proud, you know.”

“I know you are. And I promise, once this series is over, I’ll call more.”

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”

“I have no doubt,” Emma said. “How’s the store?”

When Emma first came to Storybrooke and landed on Ingrid’s doorstep, the woman had been working as a waitress in Granny’s diner – the stereotypical village watering hole for the town. Emma – for all intents and purposes – grew up in one of Granny’s booths, doing her homework with Mary Margaret and sneaking a few onion rings from behind the counter as they waited for Ingrid’s shift to end. To this day, Granny’s hot chocolate was Emma’s favorite. 

But when Emma turned 15, things changed and Ingrid decided she wasn’t all that interested in being an employee anymore – so she bought the run-down ice cream shop next door to Granny’s and opened her own business. It took a little while, but Scoops became just as much a part of Storybrooke as the clocktower in the center of town and Granny’s itself. It was Emma’s first real job. 

“A madhouse,” Ingrid replied. “I’m actually going to have to hire someone else. I didn’t think losing Elsa this summer would make things so difficult.”

Emma’s sister had spent two weeks in Storybrooke before packing up for Portland and her very real, very important job with the city. 

“Ask Ruby,” Emma suggested. She knew the answer she was going to get, but sometimes it was fun to simply try and get a rise out of Ingrid. 

“And face the wrath of Granny? No thank you, Emma.”

“I was only partially kidding.”

“It’s the partially that worries me. Sometimes I think you just like trying to drive me crazy.”

Emma shook her head, fully aware that Ingrid couldn’t see her. Will walked by her desk, giving her a curious glance and she simply pointed at her phone. 

“Would I ever do that, Ingrid?”

“If you were 14 years old, I would be certain that’s exactly what you were doing.”

“I’m not 14 anymore,” Emma pointed out.

“I know,” Ingrid replied and Emma thought she heard a bit of regret in her voice. 

“You ok?”

Ingrid made a noise in the affirmative before responding, not doing anything to shake Emma’s concern. “Of course. Just tired and I miss my girls. It’s prime tourist season – I’ve never seen more people interested in eating ice cream. I should really hire someone.”

“What about Ella's kid?”

“Emma, she’s three.”

“Ehhh do child labor laws really count when you’re just scooping ice cream?”

“I believe so.”

“Well then I’m flat out of suggestions.”

“And after you put forth all that effort.”

Emma laughed again, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “What are you going to do during the wedding?”

“Close,” Ingrid replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

“And miss a whole weekend in August?”

“There are more important things than that, Emma,” Ingrid said. “And having both you and Elsa home means a lot to me. So I’ll close. I’m not missing a moment with you two.”

“I’m excited to see you,” Emma said, meaning every single syllable. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But you know I’m proud of you.”

“You’ve said that twice now.”

“Because I’m trying to get you to believe me.”

“I do,” Emma said and she could practically see Ingrid’s surprise as if she were standing in front of her desk. 

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

“You’ve been trying to get me to believe you for over a decade and now you’re suddenly questioning why I am?”

“Motherly concern.”

“About?”

“About the change of heart.”

“Have you been talking to M’s?” Emma asked suspiciously.

“Now, Emma,” Ingrid replied slowly. “Would I go behind your back to get information out of your best friend and roommate?”

“I wouldn’t think so, but I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

“Don’t sweetheart. No, I have not talked to Mary Margaret. In addition to my motherly concern, I also possess a good amount of intuition. You going to tell me or should I guess his name?”

“This isn’t about a guy!” Emma groaned, doing her best to keep her voice quiet. 

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that guy who couldn’t stop staring at you in the video you did for the paper, would it?”

“No,” Emma answered too quickly.

“Is he nearby?”

“Ugh, yes, he’s nearby. We’re filming another video this afternoon.”

“Ah, well, then I won’t drill for answers. But someday I’d like to think him.”

“What for?”

“For tearing down some of those walls, Emma. You’ve been building them up since you were 12 and while you never lacked for certainty when I wrote, you never quite believed you deserved to be there either. If you’re starting to think that – and he had anything to do with it – then someone should thank him.”

Emma sat stone still for a moment, processing Ingrid’s statement and realized she was right. Well, damn. 

“I’m going to take your nearly deafening silence as agreeing with me,” Ingrid said quietly. 

“That seems fair.”

“So,” Ingrid continued, “Did you like the dresses?” 

Emma blinked once at the abrupt change in topic, but appreciated Ingrid’s understanding nonetheless. That, however, had always been Ingrid. Even when Emma was a sarcastic and slightly angry teenager – Ingrid always knew when to let things drop and how to get Emma to open up when she had to. 

Twenty-eight-year-old Emma appreciated it just as much as teenage-Emma did. 

“I did,” Emma answered. “I don’t think they’re nearly as bad as Elsa thinks they are. They’re just very red.”

“Yeah, well, Elsa never much for bright colors.”

“Good thing she doesn’t have to wear them then.”

“Are you ok with this, Emma? This whole bridesmaid thing?”

“I don’t know that I have much of a choice.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Ingrid argued. “Of course you have a choice. You could just tell Regina you’re not doing it.”

“I already said I would – my dress is all fitted and everything. It’ll be fine. I don’t know that it’ll be particularly fun, but M’s and David will be there too and if I know Regina she won’t spare a single expense so I’m kind of banking on the open bar at the reception.”

“I have already confirmed the open bar with Regina’s mother.”

“I love you.”

Ingrid laughed loudly and Emma could hear the response of the customers in the background. “If all I have to do to get an  _ I love you _ out of you is guarantee alcohol, then I promise to bring a flask to every wedding-related event throughout the weekend.”

“Deal,” Emma responded, laughing as well before catching her breath. “Hey,” she added, “you know you don’t have to do anything special to get an  _ I love you _ out me, right? I do.”

“I know you do sweetheart and I love you too. I can’t wait for you to be home.”

“A month and a half. I expect lots of ice cream.”

“Ice cream I can do.”

“Perfect,” Emma said. “Listen, Ingrid, I gotta go – we’re going to film soon and I’ve got to get up to the studio, ok? The video’ll be up later tonight so click on it like 20 times or something so they think it gets hits.”

“I’m sure it will get hits without me clicking on it 20 times.”

“Just to be safe.”

“I’ll do it 25 times.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Emma hit the end button on her phone, standing up and stuffing it in her pocket before heading towards the doors. It only took a few minutes for her post-Ingrid call bliss to wear off and a knot of anxiety to take its place. 

She hadn’t answered Killian’s e-mail.

She didn’t know how – how are you supposed to respond to something like that, anyway? But even if she had known exactly what she wanted to say, Emma knew she still wouldn’t have responded. She was too nervous. 

So instead she did her best to sleep – desperate to avoid dark circles on this latest video – and tried not to think how much she wanted to be important to Killian Jones. 

He was waiting outside the studio when she stepped out of the elevator, once again wearing a suit and, once again, looking far too good than he should have. He hadn’t knotted his tie yet and Emma refused to even consider all the things she could have done with a loose tie at her disposal. 

“Swan,” he greeted her and Emma felt her heart flutter at the nervous tone of his voice. 

“Hey.”

“You ok?”

Emma nodded. “Fine. Kind of tired.”

“Didn’t sleep again?”

“Not as much as I would have liked.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, taking a step towards him. Emma heard him take a breath and she glanced up at him – she could practically feel the nerves radiating off him.”Are you ok?”

“Of course.”

Emma narrowed her eyes skeptically. “I’m going to say something and I don’t want you to interrupt me, ok? Just let me do this?”

“Go ahead, love.”

“I know there’s something you aren’t telling me. And that’s fine – really. You don’t know everything about me, I don’t expect to know everything about you. But if you’re really certain you want to be my friend, it’s got to go both ways. You’re not telling me the whole story here. I don’t want to push it, but I do want to know. So when you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be here, ok?”

His answering smile was practically blinding. “You’re very perceptive, you know that?”

“I’m good at getting people to talk.”

“True, Swan, which is why we’re here getting ready to film this video again,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “And you’re not wrong. There’s a good amount you don’t know about me. It’s not all good though.”

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain I don’t care.”

“That’s not one hundred.”

“It’s awfully close though,” Emma said, taking a deep breath and trying to summon some sort of unknown emotional-courage. “If you get to claim to care then so do I, Killian. I care. And I want to know what it is you’re not telling me.”

He shook his head slowly – almost as if he couldn’t believe what she was telling him – and reached forward to skim his fingertips over her wrist. “Where did you come from, Swan?” he muttered, almost to himself. 

“I’ve been around.”

Killian chuckled at that, still staring at her hand. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Neither are you.”

His head snapped up at that and Killian stared at her like he was trying to read her mind. His eyes flitted back to her lips for a few seconds and Emma was two moments away from grabbing on that ridiculously loose tie and kissing him again – throwing caution entirely to the wind – when the studio door swung open and Isaac walked out. 

“Emma! Killian!” he exclaimed, not noticing – or blatantly ignoring – as the two of them jumped apart. “Ready for another round?”

Somehow, that single question seemed to have a much bigger meaning than Isaac realized and Emma grimaced, glancing over her shoulder at a vaguely shell-shocked Killian. 

“Sure thing, Isaac,” Killian said. “Let’s go.”

Isaac spun back around into the studio, a ball of ad-revenue-propelled excitement and Emma felt Killian’s hand on her back, nudging her in the direction of the double doors. 

“C’mon love,” he said softly. “Let’s dissect some offensive schemes and then I’ll buy you some hot chocolate.”

Emma laughed and nodded. “Deal.”

* * *

“Every fucking day, Swan,” Killian said angrily, slamming his hand onto his desk. Emma rolled her eyes. “They want to do this every day like we don’t have a championship series to cover.”

“We can get up earlier for two weeks, Killian. It’s not going to kill us.”

“It might.”

“It won’t.”

Emma stared at him, sitting calmly in the chair in front of his desk. He had started pacing again. 

“We’ve got an actual paper to put out too,” he muttered. “We don’t have time to do video reports from the Garden every day.”

“Did I miss that part? I was fairly certain we weren’t doing anything from the Garden.”

“You know what I mean Swan.”

Emma smiled – she really was trying not to laugh, she didn’t think Killian would appreciate that. “I do and I also know you need to relax. It will be fine.” She stood up and leaned over his desk, putting her hand over his. Killian took a deep breath and glanced up to meet Emma’s eyes. 

“They do have days off in between games,” he muttered, seemingly offended that he had to even admit it. 

“That is very true. It’s two weeks Killian.”

“Two weeks of video-induced torture.”

“I think you may be overreacting.”

He sighed. “Yeah, probably.”

“You going to tell me what’s actually wrong now?”

“What makes you think I’m not just frustrated that the higher-ups are demanding daily videos?”

“I think there’s more to your story.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Journalist,” he accused. Emma shrugged. “They want to send an army to these games. There’s not even enough room in the paper for everything we could – and probably should – be doing.”

“That’s what the internet is for.” 

“You mind listening to some angle ideas?”

“Shoot.”

“Victor’s got game coverage down – he could probably do that in his sleep if he had to. And you can keep doing the feature angles. Play up the social media more, especially during games. I thought we could do some live chats too. You’ll get a good chunk of idiots, but maybe someone will surprise me and actually point out something interesting.”

He was pacing again, but this time it wasn’t stress-induced. He was on a roll now. “Now, here’s where it gets tricky. I’m going to go to the games too, grab some column ideas, but I think we should have one more for the Thunder. You know – get the other side?” Emma nodded. “I’m thinking Walsh.”

That caught Emma by surprise. “What? Really?”

Killian stuck his hands in his pockets and rolled back on his heels. “I can’t refuse to give him bylines. And the higher-ups may have mentioned adding him to the list.”

“So you’re caving?”

“I’m trying not to get fired.”

“Look at you, being all responsible.”

“I can be responsible, Swan,” he mumbled, walking around to the front of his desk and leaning on the top so his knees were only a few inches away from Emma’s. 

Emma knew she looked skeptical, but his face was so serious that she had a hard time doubting him. “Ok,” she said slowly. “So be responsible then. Give him a couple of bylines. Write your columns. Put some stories online. I can run live chats and write features and whatever else you need me to do. We can do this Killian.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments and Emma tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then he smiled – so bright and so wide that the skin near his eyes crinkled. And there was an entirely different feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Killian practically leapt off the side of his desk, grabbing Emma’s shoulders and practically dragging her out of the chair.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re brilliant, Swan?” he asked, pulling her up so she was standing right in front of him, hands tight on her arms. 

“Not so much recently.”

“Well let’s change that. You are brilliant, Swan. Absurdly so. And if you think we can do this then we can certainly do this – even if we have to tape two video updates a day.”

Emma returned his smile, keeping her arms trained at her side – they were  _ friends _ – and ignoring the feeling that half the office was staring at her and Killian. Then she met his gaze and she almost didn’t care if the entire building fit itself on the sports floor and started screaming at them. 

_ Friends. Boss.  _

Certainly nothing more than that. Not two people who had forcibly made out on the sidewalk in front of Emma’s apartment less than a week before. 

“I’ve got some faith in our ability to make this work and print good stories,” Emma said. 

“All the news that’s fit to print, huh?”  
  
“I think you may have confused slogans there. Aren’t we more ‘Get the best picture on the front page and then put some sort of euphemism on the back?’”

“That seems about accurate.”

“Well then I think we can meet expectations.”

“Did you see the numbers for the pre-series video?” Emma shook her head. “They were better than before. Isaac sent his entire congratulatory e-mail in caps.”

“The whole thing?”

Killian nodded solemnly. “The whole thing. He was very excited.”

“Apparently.”

“You sure you’re ok about Walsh?” he asked, finally taking his hands off Emma’s arms. 

She shrugged. “Not really my call. He’s a good writer. As long as he doesn’t get in my way, I don’t really care where he is or what he’s doing.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a smirk and for a moment Emma thought he was going to make some sort of joke, but – and she really should know by now – he surprised her again. “See, Swan, brilliant.”

“If you say so.”  
  
“I believe I’ve done that several times now.”

Emma bit her lip – accepting compliments wasn’t exactly her forte – and flipped her hair back over her shoulders before tugging absentmindedly on the top of her skirt. “You want to film before the game? I was planning on heading downtown around 4:30.”

Killian blinked – surprised at the abrupt change of subject – before nodding quickly. “Yeah we can do that. They want to put it up soon. Just a game preview type of thing.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll come grab you when Isaac lets me know they’re ready upstairs.”

“Cool.”

Emma walked out of his office before he could respond or – more importantly – before she could do something she’d regret like blurt out that she was fairly convinced he could do anything when it came to writing and leading a section and even filming these stupid videos – because she was fairly certain Killian Jones could actually do anything he set his mind to. 

She’d probably regret it if she told him that. 

He was as good as his word and did, in fact, stop in front of her desk to bring Emma up to the studio and film that day’s update.  Isaac was over the moon with the success of the  _ thing _ and Emma was pretty proud that she and Killian could actually get through introducing themselves on camera without breaking down into laughter. 

They previewed the series and talked about the challenges the Thunder presented to the Knicks defensive schemes and Emma knew it went well. Isaac’s post-filming pep talk –  _ sports is the heart of this paper, guys, we have to keep up this level of coverage no matter what _ – lasted a bit longer than either Killian or Emma would have liked though and by the time the editor had wrapped up his speech, it was after 4:30. 

“Jesus Christ, Swan,” Killian muttered as they entered the elevator. “Next time he goes off on a tangent like that, I need you to fake some sort of life or death situation so we can get out of there. You’d think he’d have some concept of time – I know he wasn’t born behind that giant desk.”

“Hey, how come I have to fake the life or death situation? Why couldn’t you die?”

Killian rolled his head towards Emma, narrowing his eyes and smiling slightly. “True, love. Hardly seems fair to make you do all the dirty work.”

“Exactly.”

“You going to leave soon?” Killian asked, walking back towards his office. 

“Like now.”

“Want to share a cab?”

“Walsh won’t be upset we’re leaving him behind?”

“I’m fairly certain I couldn’t care less.”

“Give me two seconds to grab my stuff.” Killian nodded, reaching out quickly to brush his hand over Emma’s forearm before jogging towards his own office to grab his laptop. 

It took all of ten minutes to get to the Garden and Emma pulled her phone out of her pocket the moment she slid out of the cab, snapping a photo of the fans lining up outside already. Non-stop tweets – she and Killian had decided social media saturation was the best way to go with this. So she’d take pictures and videos and post everything.

“So efficient, Swan,” he muttered, climbing out of the cab behind her and pulling his credentials over his head. 

Emma shrugged. “People with orange and blue painted faces? The internet deserves to see that.”

“Fair point, love. Come on, let’s get inside before Walsh has some sort of kiniption on the baseline. He’s been texting non-stop for the last 20 minutes, upset about where his seat is.”

“I didn’t hear your phone go off.”

“Ah, well, someone told me I should consider putting it on vibrate.”

Emma glanced at him over her shoulder while she walked through the metal detector and saw him grinning at her in return. “I wasn’t aware you were the kind of person who’d take advice like that.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong Swan,” he said, tossing his wallet and his keys in the small plastic container on the conveyor belt. “I wouldn’t take advice like that from anyone. But you’re a different story altogether.”

“Charmer,” Emma muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Honest,” he responded, walking her into the elevator and hitting the button for the media room. 

The room was packed – national reporters, Oklahoma City media, TV cameras, photographers – and Emma silently cursed Isaac for making her and Killian even a few minutes late. 

“Jeez,” she mumbled, stepping out of the way quickly to avoid a particularly stressed out photographer. 

Killian’s hand seemed to automatically wrap around her waist – making sure she didn’t fall over, Emma rationalized – and glanced at her, rolling his eyes. “Well, this is bordering on disaster isn’t it?”

“There’s got to be seats in the corner. Come on.”

Killian stepped forward, pushing his way through the crowd and doing his best to leave an open space for Emma to walk through. She heard a voice shout out her name and turned on her heels to find Victor trying to make his way towards them. 

“Guys!” he yelled. “Killian! Emma! We saved seats over here. Walsh has been asking about when you were going to get here.”

“Of course he has,” Killian said under his breath and Emma had to stifle a laugh. “Alright, Victor,” he continued. “Lead on.”

Victor directed them to the back corner of the room – where Walsh was hunched over his laptop – and a line of four seats up against the wall. 

“So filming took a bit longer than expected, huh?” Victor asked, once they had finally pushed their way through the crowd. 

Killian just grunted. Emma rolled her eyes. “Isaac was very enthusiastic about planning the next few days,” she answered. “I think he honestly forgot there was an actual game we had to get to.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to join us,” Walsh said, his face still inches away from the laptop. “Some of us had actual work to do early on.”

“An admirable job you’re doing too, Walsh,” Killian said. Emma could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but she wasn’t sure either Walsh or Victor noticed. 

“I talked to a couple of players pre-game,” Walsh continued. “Got stuff up online already. Tweeted a few things too.”

“Very impressive,” Killian said. Emma just bit her lip. Victor just laughed, glancing between Walsh and Killian quickly. 

“They’re supposedly feeding us soon too,” Victor added. “We’ll see what they actually dig up this time around, although last series wasn’t too bad. I think they’re trying to impress the national media.”

“Ah well, can’t have the national media leaving New York wanting.”

“I’m going to head down to the court,” Emma interjected, earning a three-pronged stare from the men next to her. “What?”

“They’re not playing for another two and a half hours,” Walsh pointed out.

“A fact I’m well aware of, thanks. But they let fans in soon and you know that guy, kind of famous Knicks fan, Spike Lee? He gets here as soon as doors open. Promised me a one-on-one about the series on Sunday after they won.”

“Spike Lee promised you a one-on-one?” Walsh asked skeptically.

“Is that surprising?”

“How did that happen?”

Emma shrugged. “He sits a few seats over from where I was on the table. We talk during timeouts sometimes.”

Walsh opened his mouth as if he was going to reply with some sort of sarcastic retort, but simply closed it when he looked back up at Emma. She counted that as a victory. 

“Go, Swan,” Killian said, his own look of pride settling the anger Emma had felt flaring up. She nodded once and walked away, only vaguely aware of Killian’s voice as he turned towards Victor and Walsh and started issuing out game-day directions. 

Emma got her story – not to mention some pretty fantastic quotes – practically sprinted back up to the media room, grabbed her laptop and slid into her courtside seat with 45 seconds left on the pre-game clock. 

“You missed the anthem,” Killian said, glancing at her as Emma pulled her hair up and stuck a pen in her ponytail.

“I promise to salute the flag at some point later on tonight.”

“I’d like to see that happen.” 

Emma rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond, settling into her seat and typing up a few quick responses to the already jam-packed live chat audience. 

“Why are there so many people interested in this chat?” she asked, mostly to herself. “This game is on TV and Twitter exists. Who needs this?”

“People want an avenue to complain when the Knicks invariably start losing by double digits,” Killian answered.

“Ye of little faith.”

“You’re not supposed to root for specific teams, Swan. That’s against the journalism rules.”

“I’m not rooting,” Emma argued, glancing up when the crowd cheered for particularly impressive jumpshot. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you don’t automatically assume that the hometown team is going to lose by double digits.”

“Have you seen Russell Westbrook play basketball?”

“I’m not disagreeing with you. I know this probably won’t end well, but I don’t think it’s wrong to want to write a story that ends with a win instead of a blowout.”

“Happy endings and whatnot?”

“That’s a bit sentimental. I don’t know that I’d go that far.”

“You have a problem with sentiment?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Emma said, trying to keep up with the game, Killian and the army of angry Knicks fans in her live-chat. “I’m just more firmly entrenched in the realism category. If you want sentiment you might want to talk to M’s and David a bit more.”

“Ah, yeah, I had picked on that a bit,” he said. Emma didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling. “Speaking of which, how is summer camp going? David mentioned Mary Margaret wasn’t quite enjoying it.”

“Just how often are you and David texting each other?”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“Don’t care.”

“There’s no need to get hostile, Swan. David and I text enough. Does it bother you?”

Emma shook her head, taking her attention away from the live-chat for a few moments to actually look at the game happening in front of her. “No,” she said slowly. “It surprises me more than anything else.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t seem weird to you?”  
  
“Still didn’t answer my question.”

“Are you like actually friends with him? I mean, he’s talking about M’s, so you must actually consider him your friend, right?”

“I would.”

“Huh.”

Carmello Anthony drained a jumper and pointed to the stands – Emma jotted down a note to ask him about the moment during post. She could hear the keys on Killian’s keyboard clattering and his phone made several consecutive noises of varying sounds and volumes.

“What is that thing doing?” Emma asked, nodding towards the phone. 

“Hmmm, sounded like an e-mail, a text and Twitter unless I’m mistaken.”

“Popular.”

Killian made some kind of noise in the back of his throat – Emma thought it sounded vaguely like frustration – but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t push the sarcasm anymore and didn’t say anything else about Killian’s apparent relationship with David. 

It was probably better just to let that be. After all, David could use some friends of his own who weren’t Emma and Mary Margaret. 

Killian had been right – it didn’t take long for the Knicks to go down by double digits and the halftime score didn’t do much to help Emma’s hope for a positive post-game press conference. The dance team came out during the break and Emma took the opportunity to stand up, finally feeling as if she could take a breath. Her Twitter feed was filled with mentions and questions – she had done her best to keep up during the game – and the notebook next to her was jammed with scribbles for story ideas and blog updates. 

She was just about to walk towards the back hallway behind the far hoop – they kept sodas back there – when Walsh and Victor came up to the table, ready for halftime instructions from Killian. 

“Hey, so shitty game, huh?” Victor asked, a notebook sticking out of the back pocket of his pants. 

“Kind of what I figured would happen,” Killian answered. “There was no way they were going to be able to keep up with the Thunder’s offense.”

“Facts. So what do you want at the end Cap? The gamer’s halfway written so I’ll get that up once the buzzer goes off.”

“That’s fine. I was thinking we’d stream the pressers too. Emma can do the Knicks one?” He glanced at her and Emma nodded in response. “Walsh you’re going to have to do the Thunder on your own, but I’ve got an extra recorder on me so you can use that to get quotes and your phone to stream.”

“I’m not doing that,” Walsh said, practically cutting Killian off in the process. 

“Excuse me?”

“Make Emma stream.”

“Emma can’t be in two places at once.”

“Well I’m not doing it. I need my phone to record quotes.”  
  
“Did you miss the part where I explained how this was going to work?”

“I have to use my own phone. I have a system,” Walsh argued. Killian raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Emma would have recognized that battle stance from the other side of the Garden. 

“This isn’t some sort of journalistic democracy, Walsh,” Killian said quietly, with just a hint of a threat in his voice. “You came over here for instructions. I’ve given them. I expect you to do it.”

“Make. Emma. Do. It.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Why not? She’s just here to write fluff. She can hold a phone.” Walsh looked expectantly at Emma as if he was waiting for her to demonstrate her phone-holding abilities. “And maybe she could get me some stats too,” he added. “I think I saw them handing out halftime packets a second ago.”

Killian opened his mouth to argue back, but Emma had heard enough. She stepped in front of him, ignoring his hand brushing against her back and let loose all the anger and frustration she had been building since her very first encounter with Walsh. 

“You’re some kind of asshole, you know that?” she asked. “What gives you the right to say any of that?’

“You’re here for the fluff, Emma,” he repeated. “The girl stuff.”

“The girl stuff?”

“Family features, fan stories,  _ personal  _ shit.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Everything I have written since this series started has been about the game. Maybe not always on the court, but certainly the game. You suggesting anything else is ridiculous.”

“The only reason you’re here is because he,” Walsh nodded towards Killian, “wants you here. There are other people who could have done all of those stories.”

“Yeah?” Emma asked, barely whispering the words. Walsh took a step back. “You?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then tell me something, Walsh. Where’s your exclusive? Go find something. Talk to someone. Get into the locker room. Learn how to fucking live stream a post-game presser while still getting quotes. Do all of that – hell do any of that – and then talk to me about only being here for the fluff.”

Walsh took another step back, running into Emma’s empty chair and glanced nervously around the arena. “Well?” Emma prompted. 

“Fine. I can do the stream.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Killian said. Emma looked to her left, taken back by the look on his face. He looked murderous. 

“What are you talking about?” Walsh asked. 

“You’re not doing post. You’re not even doing the second half. Get out of here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Did I not make myself clear? Get out.”  
  
“You’ve already given me assignments!”

“I can do those. Strangely enough I do know how to write,” Killian answered, taking a step closer to Walsh, his face still a mixture of anger and detest. “Get out of here. You don’t get to say shit like that and still get a byline.”

“I knew you’d side with her.”  
  
“There aren’t any sides. This isn’t fifth grade. This is you being an asshole and me being your boss. Apologize to Swan.” He all but growled out the last word and Emma couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It felt like the longest halftime in the world. 

“Sorry,” Walsh mumbled.

“Once more with feeling,” Killian said. 

“I’m sorry Emma.”

Emma simply nodded, not trusting herself to say anything without yelling. Walsh looked at Killian and Victor, stalling his exit. “Out, Walsh,” Killian said and Emma knew the conversation was final. 

“Shit,” Victor muttered as soon as Walsh had walked away. “What a dick.”

“You ok, Swan?” Killian asked, turning towards her, his face softening immediately as his hand rested on her back. 

Emma nodded again. “Of course. He’s just an asshole.”

“To the highest degree.”

The halftime buzzer went and Emma jumped slightly at the noise as the rest of the world suddenly reinvaded her mind. There was an entire second half left to play. 

“I’ll post the gamer at the buzzer, Cap,” Victor repeated before sprinting back to his side of the table. 

Emma sank back into her chair and sighed, earning her a worried glance from Killian. “You sure you ok, love?” She did her best to ignore the fact that he called her  _ love _ when they were alone – or as alone as you could be on press row. 

“Fine,” she answered. He looked at her expectantly. Emma raised one finger and drew an ‘x’ over her heart. “Really.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Par for the course.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I really can take care of myself.”

“And I really do know that. But if you expect me to just stand there and listen to him talk like that, you’ve got another thing coming. Even if I didn’t want to kill him because you’re  _ you _ and people can’t talk like that to you, I am still his boss and you’re still his co-worker. He could have at least pretended to be professional.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one.”

“He’s not coming back here. Fuck that. I’ll find someone else to do it.”

“Killian,” Emma said patiently. “You can’t do that and you know you can’t. The higher-ups wanted him here and you’re just going to get yourself in trouble if you blackball him. I think you terrified him a bit anyway. I doubt he’ll say anything again.”

He groaned and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re right, of course. Isaac’s obsessed with him anyway. He’s the one who wanted him here. That doesn’t mean I won’t actually kill him if he looks at you the wrong way.”

“Hey, it’s really ok,” Emma said, putting her hand over Killian’s. He stared at it for a moment before meeting her eyes.

“If you say so.”

“I think I just did.”

“Brilliant, again.”

“Now you’re just trying to compliment me.”

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

Emma felt her stomach drop and  _ God _ she wanted to kiss him. Again. Several times. But then she remembered she was sitting courtside at an NBA championship game and she had just been vaguely harassed by a co-worker and she needed to answer live-chat questions. 

“Hey, what are you doing later?” Emma asked, ignoring the nearly-deafening crowd cheering for a blocked shot that had gone into the VIP seats along the baseline. 

“Aside from backing myself into a corner that requires me to write more stories?”

“Yeah, I mean, unless you’re super busy.”  
  
“You haven’t actually asked me anything, Swan.”

She rolled her eyes, her nerves getting the better of her. This was absurd. Killian was her friend. They were  _ friends _ . They bantered. They could hang out. That didn’t require her to spill her emotional guts or make out with him. 

It didn’t. 

“Well,” she said, her voice picking up. “I’m supposed to meet David and M’s after the game. It’s kind of a post big-game tradition of ours. We used to do it all the time at school. If I ever covered anything particularly  _ awesome _ , we’d go get drinks after to celebrate.”

“And this counts as awesome?”  
  
“This may be the top of the list.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your tradition.”

“I want you to come.”

Killian stared at her as if she had just said something historic and Emma bit her lip. “I’d love to, Swan.”

Emma nodded once – as if she were confirming his response – and smiled at him. He met it with one of his own as the sold-out crowd around them cheered again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is insanely long. And this story is also insanely long, you know, like collectively. As per usual, thank you to everyone for the clicks, comment and usual, but especially today – Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates! If you're on Tumblr, I am now too, so I've completed my full descent into fandom. Feel free to come flail with me there too: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	22. Chapter 22

The Knicks lost. 

Emma tried to not take it as some kind of sign. She wasn’t quite sure what the sign would be exactly – that she  _ was _ in fact bad luck and couldn’t get happy endings, on the court or otherwise – but she was determined to ignore it. 

She was determined to be happy. At least for the remainder of the night. 

Emma had been able to not only live stream the presser, get quotes and finish her pre-game Q&A, but managed to wrap up the live-chat on a semi-positive note that only included a handful of disgruntled fans. 

The Knicks may have lost, but Emma felt like she had won – at least metaphorically. 

She had just finished typing her last sentence, about to turn around to see if Killian was almost done, when her phone beat her to the punch, sounding loudly in the still jam-packed media room.

“Swan,” Killian muttered mutinously next to her, not taking his eyes off his laptop screen. 

“I know, I know, vibrate.” He just laughed and continued to type. 

_ Hey! We’ve got seats in the back. So head over whenever you’re ready. I know they lost, but the rest of the night is going to be a win! That was so lame, even I couldn’t believe I typed that. Just get here when you can _ . 

Emma laughed at Mary Margaret’s text, typing back:  _ I just wrapped. Shouldn’t take too long to walk over. I’m bringing Killian. _

It took a few minutes before Mary Margaret responded and Emma was fairly certain her friend had already started celebrating. The text simply read:  _!!!!! _

Emma put her phone down, shaking her head slightly. “You alright, Swan?” Killian asked, closing his laptop and reaching underneath the table to pull out the charger. 

“You’re done already?”

“Would you like to double check?”

“You just gave yourself a good amount of extra work. I’m impressed.”

“You’re not the only one who can meet deadlines.”

“Ah, but when you’re the one imposing your own deadlines, does it really count? A tree falls in the woods and all that?”

Killian stood up to stuff his laptop back into his bag and swing it over his shoulder. “Something like that I’m sure. Either way, I am, in fact, done. You still want me to come? I don’t want to intrude on some sort of long-standing friendship tradition.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but her heart stutted just a bit when she heard the question in his voice. He didn’t want to overstep. Or, more to the point, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. 

“I wasn’t lying you know,” she said, staring more at his feet than anywhere else. “I want you to come.”  
  
“Well, who am I to argue that?”

“Exactly.”

It didn’t take long to meet Mary Margaret and David – only a few blocks over – and it only took a few more moments to spot them in the back of the bar, spread out at a table in the corner. Mary Margaret’s bag was sitting on one stool, while David’s coat was hanging over another. Both of them appeared on the defensive. 

Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if she saw David flash his badge to keep people from stealing their seats. 

“Emma!” Mary Margaret shouted, trying to fight over the dull noise of the crowd. She added in a wave – as if Emma couldn’t see her clear as day. Emma rolled her eyes and heard Killian laugh behind her. She felt his hand on the small of her back, lightly pushing her forward. 

“You’ve got to walk, Swan,” he muttered in her ear and she knew he had to bend over slightly to reach her level. It certainly didn’t make her heart beat faster – at all. 

“Hey, M’s,” she said. “Had to actually push anyone away from the table, David?”

“I considered it.”  
  
“Probably safer not to beat up anyone in the actual bar,” Killian added, tossing David his jacket so he could sit on the stool, before adding, “Hey, Mary Margaret.”

“Hi, Killian. It’s nice to see you again.”

“So, how was it?” David asked. “I was following your Twitter, Emma. Seemed pretty awful.”

“It wasn’t exactly an ideal basketball game,” Killian answered. “In several different ways.”

Emma groaned. He was going to tell them. She didn’t want him to tell them. She wanted to get slightly buzzed and then go home. 

“What happened?” Mary Margaret asked quickly, glancing at Emma. 

“Nothing happened.”

“Somehow I feel like that’s not true,” David said softly. Emma groaned again. 

“Did you tell him already?” Emma asked, glaring at Killian. 

He held up his hands, giving up on the fight before it had really even gotten started. “I spent the last hour of my life writing stories about the Oklahoma City Thunder, love. Deadlines and all that. I didn’t say anything to David.”

“What happened, Emma?” Mary Margaret interjected.

“Just Walsh being an asshole again.”

“He did that in front of you?” David asked, nodding towards Killian who simply scowled in response. 

“He’s an idiot,” Emma said. “It’s not important. All the stories got done. And if today’s game got David to follow along with my tweets, then I’m not going to let Walsh distract me from this modern-day miracle.”

David gaped at her, Mary Margaret laughed and Killian simply placed a hand on her shoulder – Emma felt herself relax underneath it – and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “C’mon, Swan, let me buy you a drink.”

“Might be a bit more expensive than two-dollar hot chocolate.”

“I’ll survive.”

She stood up – Killian’s hand still very much on her shoulder – as he directed her to the bar. Emma’s stare met Mary Margaret’s and she felt her eyes widen slightly at her friend. Mary Margaret just smiled encouragingly.  _ Go _ , she mouthed at Emma. 

Killian was very good at pushing his way through the Friday-night midtown crowd and it only took a few seconds before they were face-to-face with the bartender. 

“What do you want, love?” he asked. That felt like a very loaded question in this very crowded bar after he had very much defended her honor just a few hours before. Emma bit her lip, but Killian just looked at her expectantly. 

“Surprise me,” she muttered.

He laughed at that, leaning over the bar and ordering before handing her a glass. She stared at it intently, raising it to her eyeline. “Is that rum?” she asked.

“It is.”

“Rum? For real?”

“Drink, Swan.”

Emma grimaced, but downed the drink in two gulps, shaking her head slightly as the alcohol settled in her stomach, warmth shooting up her spine. “It wasn’t a shot, Swan,” Killian said, his voice tinged with laughter. “You didn’t have to do it all at once.”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t drink it.”

“You did say you wanted to be surprised.”

“I couldn’t tell you the last time I drank rum.”

“That seems an awful shame,” he said, drinking his own slowly. 

“Are you some sort of rum connoisseur?” 

“Hardly. I wouldn’t object to saying I had some experience with the drink though.”

Emma tilted her head slightly, a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue. She held back. Someday – he had promised – he would tell her. She wouldn’t press before then. Killian smiled at her, reaching out his hand for her glass and nodding towards the bartender again.  

“That’s two drinks now,” Emma mumbled. 

“Are you keeping score?”

“Not yet.”

“Well when you start, let me know so I can get a fair shot at winning whatever sort of prize we’re going after. Until then, I promise, Swan, they do pay me at this job so I can buy the drinks.”

She groaned slightly – more to get a smile out of Killian than anything else – and rolled her shoulders, leaning her entire body up against him. Well, that had been a mistake. She hadn’t accounted for the closeness of the crowd behind her as she moved, the guy next to her pushed up against her back, forcing Emma even closer to Killian. 

One glass of rum and Emma Swan was already tripping over her own feet around Killian Jones. 

_ God _ . He was solid and strong and barely even moved when she all but landed on top of him. His arm snaked around her waist, holding up the majority of her weight and Emma could feel him laughing underneath her, his chest moving with the effort of it. 

“Steady on, love,” he laughed. “No need to attack.”

“Ha,” she hissed back, resting her head on his shoulder.  _ Boss. Friend _ . “It’s way too crowded in here. I wasn’t expecting to be pushed over.”

“You alright?” Emma nodded into his shirt. He handed her the drink, pushing the glass against her fingers and shrugging her head up so he could look at her. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“This one isn’t a shot either,” he answered, eyes dancing with amusement as he directed her back towards David and Mary Margaret. 

“Duly noted.”

“That took forever,” David said when Emma and Killian returned to the table. “I really did almost have to flash my badge this time to keep your seats.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good thing we came back when we did, isn’t it?” Emma said. David rolled his eyes at her, but lifted his beer in toast. Emma shook her head – he did this every time.

“Did I miss something?” Killian asked, keeping his voice low so only Emma would hear him. 

“It’s part of the tradition,” she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. “You’ll see.”

“To Emma,” he started. “For notching another box off the 14-year-old to-do-list tonight. And for getting me to acknowledge that Twitter may in fact be a valuable tool for real-time reporting.”

“Hear hear!” Mary Margaret chimed in and Emma knew her face was probably as red as her dress at this point. 

“To Emma,” David repeated, tilting his bottle in her direction. Mary Margaret beamed at her as she did the same and Killian nudged his shoulder against hers as he clinked his own glass against hers. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma muttered and David winked in response. 

“So,” Mary Margaret started, suddenly getting very official. Emma sat up straighter. “This only leaves a few things left on the list now.”

“There’s an actual list?” Killian asked. 

Emma shrugged. “There used to be. It’s somewhere in Ingrid’s house.”

“She wouldn’t have thrown that away,” David said. “I’m surprised she never got it framed, actually.”

“What else was on the list?” Killian said, staring at Emma with a look of wonder on his face. 

“Umm,” she responded evasively, walls going up as if she were on auto-pilot. “A whole bunch of stuff.”

“It was more than stuff,” Mary Margaret argued. “It was incredibly detailed and set out in perfect chronological order. She wanted to get a scholarship to school and then she wanted to be the sports editor of the school paper. The internships were on there too. And covering a professional championship game. Oh and of course buying  _ The Mirror _ .”

“That last one was more a joke than anything.”

“No, it was not Emma and you know it.”

“T _ he Mirror _ is a paper, I take it?” Killian interrupted. 

Emma nodded. “ _ The Storybrooke Mirror _ is the best source of news aside from Granny herself, which really isn’t saying a lot, but when I was a kid, I wanted to buy the paper and fix it, I guess.”

“Fix it?”  
  
“Actually cover stuff. Write something that wasn’t just there to please Regina’s family.”

“Emma…” Mary Margaret said, sounding cautious.

“She’s not going to jump out from behind the bar and demand your respect M’s. It’s ok.”

“This is the same Regina that’s getting married?”

Emma gave Killian a pointed look, but Mary Margaret and David were already staring at him wide-mouthed. “You know about that?” David asked. 

“Um, yeah,” Killian mumbled. “Swan’s mentioned it once or twice.”

“Huh.”

Emma ignored her friends and turned slightly to face Killian better. “Yes, to answer your question, same Regina. Her family has run Storybrooke since, probably, the dawn of time.”

“But isn’t that your sister, Mary Margaret?” Emma wished he would stop asking questions. Mary Margaret – to her credit – barely missed a beat before answering. 

“Step-sister,” she said. “Regina’s mother married my father when I was 15. It wasn’t always the picture-perfect family.”

“It was never the picture-perfect family,” David muttered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Mary Margaret. 

“Regina isn’t the easiest person to get along with,” Mary Margaret explained. “And her mother is very much the same. She’s the mayor of Storybrooke.”

“For the past 20 years,” Emma added.

“No term limits in Storybrooke, huh?” Killian asked, smirking at Emma. She shook her head. 

“This wedding is all anyone in Storybrooke has talked about for the last year,” David said. “ _ The Mirror  _ has actually reported on it, which should give you a fairly good idea of what kind of newspaper  _ The Mirror  _ is.”

Killian nodded his head slowly and Emma had to suppress a smile at his apparent, genuine, interest in all of this. No one cared about Storybrooke. No one  _ should _ care about Storybrooke. Killian did. 

“Do you like the dresses, Mary Margaret?” he asked and Emma nearly choked on her drink. If she thought his interest in Storybrooke was surprising, it was nothing to hearing him ask that question. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes flickered between Emma and Killian before she answered. “I don’t hate them,” she said slowly, still glancing every few seconds at Emma. “Red’s not my favorite, but it isn’t as bad as it could be. They’ll look good on Emma though. Red is her color.”

Emma downed her drink, practically slamming the empty cup on the table. “New topic,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. Killian smirked at her. 

“Oh!’ Mary Margaret exclaimed, nearly falling off her stool with the movement and catching Emma by surprise. David reached to steady her quickly and Mary Margaret shot him a thankful smile. 

“You ok, M’s?” Emma asked. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you this! I’ve got a story for you!”

“A story for me?”

“Well a lead on a story. Maybe.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Ok so there’s this kid working at camp, super nice kid, his name is Henry and he’s going to be a senior in high school. Again.”

“Again?”

“See, that’s why I thought this was a story. He’s a smart kid, but he got hurt last fall, playing baseball.” Mary Margaret’s eyes landed on Killian and Emma saw him rub the back of his hand out of instinct. She reached over quickly and pulled his right hand into hers, doing her best to smile encouragingly. He smiled back. 

“Go on, M’s,” Emma prompted. 

“Ok, so he gets hurt right? Some sort of fall league or something and it’s bad, like really bad. He said he broke his leg in multiple places when he was sliding home – ran into the catcher. Can’t go to school anymore, tried to do the homeschooling thing, but it didn’t work. So he missed his entire senior year. Now he’s back and he’s getting ready to go to school again, only the state has told him that he can’t play sports – anything, even outside of baseball – because he lost his eligibility with that lost year. He’s desperate. He just wants to play and he needs to play so schools can see him and get him a scholarship. I told him I’d mention something to you.”

Emma stared at Mary Margaret, a thousand ideas and angles racing through her mind, but before she had a chance to launch into a string of questions, Killian had beat her to the metaphorical punch.

“Did he appeal to the state already?” he asked. Mary Margaret nodded. “And they said no, flat out?” Another nod. “That’s odd. He obviously didn’t play last year since he presumably couldn’t walk on the broken leg.”

“What does that mean?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Well, the city will only allow four years on a varsity level, no matter when you start.”

“Ah, no wait, he did mention that. He said he played a few games on varsity when he was in eighth grade.”

Killian nodded knowingly. “That’d do it then. So he wouldn't have been eligible last season. The injury kind of throws a wrench into that though. I wonder if there’s precedent for that.”

“Has he talked to anybody else, M’s?” Emma asked, realizing suddenly that her hand was still very much tied up with Killian’s. 

Mary Margaret shook his head. “No, he said after his appeal got denied he kind of just gave up.”

“Where are his parents? Shouldn’t they be helping?”

“He lives with some sort of extended family. I don’t think the parents are in the picture.”

“You think you can do anything, Emma?” David asked. Emma shrugged, glancing at Killian. 

“There doesn’t seem any harm in meeting with him, does there? If nothing else, it’s a fairly interesting story. I’m curious about the specifics of it.”

Mary Margaret reached out and touched Emma’s forearm. “He’s going to be so excited, Emma. Even if you can’t do anything. I think he’s just looking for a little bit of hope.”

“We can do a bit of hope, can’t we Swan?” Killian asked, smiling at her. 

“Sure we can.”

By her final tally, Emma had three glasses of rum and one – very large – glass of water, all of which had been procured for her by Killian. She only wobbled slightly when she stood up and checked the time on her phone – 2:30 in the morning. 

The four of them, somehow, made their way out of the bar and David pulled Mary Margaret along with him towards the sidewalk as he worked on hailing a cab. Emma leaned against a lamp post, crossing her arms and staring at Killian who had pulled out his phone to check the half a dozen e-mails he had gotten since the game ended. 

“Miss anything good?” she asked, only joking slightly.

He looked up at her, meeting her gaze from underneath his eyelashes and Emma pushed her back into the light even more, hoping it would keep her rooted to the spot and not making out with him on the sidewalk again. 

“Not anything I wasn’t willing to miss,” he replied, sticking the phone back in his pocket and walking up to her. 

“You really think we can help this kid?” Emma asked. 

He shrugged. “I have no idea, Swan. But we can at least give him an afternoon, right? I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of something like that in city sports. Like I said, they’re usually rather locked in on eligibility issues, but this is different. If he only played a few games as an eighth grader, I’m not sure how that changes things and the injury makes it into a fairly large mess.”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

“Then you should.”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Letting Mary Margaret suggest stories. It’s nice that you trust her.”

“It’s a good story. And it’s not so much that I trust her – I trust you. I would have listened to you no matter what.”

Emma’s stomach flipped and she was 99 percent positive it wasn’t from the obscene amount of rum she had to drink. “Yeah?” she whispered, staring at his shoes. 

Those same shoes took a few more steps towards her – until they were practically hitting hers – and Emma felt his fingers lift her chin up to look at him. His eyes were too blue. It wasn’t fair. 

“Unequivocally,” he said softly. Emma let out her breath in a huff and forced herself to keeping looking at him. “I do have one question for you though.”

“Shoot.”

“What was at the top of the 14-year-old to-do-list?”

Emma choked out a laugh, slightly stunned. “You want to know that?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“Don’t laugh,” she warned. He simply raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. “I want a column. Or, more to the point, I want a beat that also allows me to have a column. I want to get to know a team, go to practices, spend time with players and create some sort of reputation with fans. I want to tell good stories that no one else can tell.” 

She shrugged. “That’s it.”

“You can do that, Swan,” he said with a seriousness that caught Emma’s breath in her throat. “That’s what you’re doing now.”

“Eh, not quite yet, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Several steps.”

He leaned closer again and Emma realized he had only had one glass of rum that night. He was – more or less – sober and, likely, forming coherent thoughts. Emma wasn’t quite sure she was though, because she was fairly certain he was going to kiss her. 

Until he didn’t. 

“Emma!” David yelled and Killian jumped back like she was a live wire. 

“Yeah?” she asked. 

“We’ve got a cab.”

“You want a ride?” Emma mumbled, staring at his shoes again. 

“That’s alright, love,” he answered. “I think I might take the train actually, clear my head and whatnot.”

Emma nodded, ignoring David’s cries to  _ hurry up _ and reached out to touch Killian’s hand. It was only after her fingers hit his that she realized it was his left hand. He didn’t pull away, glancing down in surprise before his face settled into some sort of quiet contentment. 

“You think you could let me know you’re not dead later?” she asked.

“I think you should go to sleep as soon as you get home.”

“Please?”

“I can do that, love. Go, before David has some sort of conniption on the street.” She squeezed his hand softly in goodbye and slid into the backseat of the cab, ignoring David’s string of vaguely sarcastic comments and Mary Margaret’s smile. 

He was as good as his word and, nearly 20 minutes after they had left the bar, Emma’s phone dinged with a new message. 

_ I haven’t died, Swan. Get some sleep and if you’re ever looking for a second investor in your coup to take over The Storybrooke Mirror, keep in mind that they do pay me fairly well here for my work.  _

She fell asleep smiling. 

* * *

The Knicks didn’t win.

Well, they won one game. But they didn’t win the series and Emma tried not to be too disappointed that her run at quasi-beat writing was, now, officially over. 

It had, however, been quite a run. 

Two weeks after that first championship game at the Garden, Emma had written 20 stories, staged five live-chats and gained 200 –  _ two hundred  _ – Twitter followers. She and Killian had also filmed 14 videos. Isaac really hadn’t been joking about  _ every _ day. 

She was exhausted. Proud of herself – she had told Killian they could do it – but also exhausted. 

Killian had texted her the night before telling her to take a day off, but Emma had resolutely refused. She had post-series stats to update and Isaac wanted them to film one final video before moving their focus on to baseball. Somehow, he had managed to convince her to come in later. 

_ You need to sleep, Swan _ , he wrote after several poor attempts to keep her in the apartment on Thursday afternoon. 

**_So do you._ **

_ Beside the point _ . 

_**I fail to see that. You can’t argue in favor of me and then against yourself Killian.** _

_ I’m in charge. I can do whatever I want.  _

**_All that power is going to your head_. **

So, she had agreed to a few extra hours of sleep and while she wouldn’t tell him she was grateful to his face – that ego didn’t need anymore coaxing – Emma also hoped he had taken some of his own advice. 

He hadn’t. 

He wasn’t in his office – which seemed good – but he was sitting on the edge of Emma’s desk, a cup in one hand and a small paper bag sitting next to him.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she accused, tossing her bag on the floor.

“And you weren’t supposed to get here this early.”

“You sitting here waiting for me kind puts a damper on that theory.”

Killian shrugged. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me.”  
  
“So, what, you’re just here to gloat?” Emma moved the nameplate on her desk out of the way and sat next to him, her legs just a few inches away from his. 

“Nope,” he said, accentuating every single letter in the word. “I am here to ply you with hot chocolate and baked goods. I also had a feeling you hadn’t eaten lunch.”

“You know, between you and M’s I’m going to gain 300 pounds.”

“Not if you keep walking home every day.”

“I thought you didn’t like me walking home by myself?”

“Eat, Swan,” he said, ignoring the question and pushing the bag into her hands. There were two bear claws inside. 

“Two?” she asked skeptically. “I don’t know that it’s really that many blocks home.”

“One is for me, Swan. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she repeated, reaching over him to grab the cup. “How did you know about bear claws?”

“Maybe I’m just a very impressive investigative reporter.”

“Nuh uh, try again.” 

“Well, when I picked you up to film that one time, the box Mary Margaret had gotten was more than half bear claws. Context clues are helpful in an investigation, Swan. Plus,” he added, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I got confirmation from Mary Margaret herself this morning.”

“You’re texting M’s now too?”

“Not quite. She was with David who asked her to double check.”

“That was very thorough of you.”

“Just covering all my bases, love.”

“The baseball puns have got to stop.”

Killian laughed, his shoulders brushing against Emma’s in the process. The phone on her desk rang – loudly – taking her by surprise and causing Killian to laugh all over again. Emma glanced over her shoulder – her desk phone  _ never  _ rang – and stared at it for a moment. 

“Answer your phone, Swan,” he said. 

“That phone never rings.”

“Someone apparently wants to talk to you.” Emma groaned, but reached in between her and Killian to pull the phone towards her ear.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Swan?” a voice asked – it sounded a bit like Leroy. Emma noticed Killian’s eyebrows drop down in confusion. She shrugged.

“Leroy?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“There’s someone down here to see you.”

Emma’s stomach dropped and she wondered for a moment if it was Neal. He had texted her a few times since  _ the incident _ , but she had been far too busy to try and meet him again. She knew he only had a few days left in the city – he had texted to update that he had closed the deal, whatever that meant – and was still desperately seeking some kind of closure, but she wasn’t all that interested in doing it at  _ The New York Record _ either. 

“Who is it?” Emma asked. 

“Some kid.”

“Does this kid have a name?”

“Says it’s Henry.”

“Send him up.”

She hung up the phone, draining the last of her hot chocolate before tossing the paper cup in the garbage. “What’s going on, Swan?” Killian asked. 

“Henry is here.”

“Wasn’t that supposed to be next week?”

“I thought so, but I’m not going to send him home either.”

“No, of course not. You mind some company when you talk to him? I’m fairly curious.”

“Sure.”

Emma and Killian walked towards the lobby, waiting for the tell-tale ding to announce Henry’s arrival. He stepped out elevator and glanced around nervously, tugging on one side of his backpack. 

“Henry?” Emma asked, cautiously, stepping towards him. 

“Are you Ms. Swan?” 

Killian laughed behind her and Emma glared at him over her shoulder. “Emma. I’m Emma. And this is Killian. He’s the sports editor here.”

“Why don’t you come inside?” Killian asked, nodding towards the double doors behind them. “We can talk a bit in my office.”

“Ok,” Henry said and Emma noticed he had already started to relax. She wondered if it was her or Killian who had helped most with that and then silently chastised herself – maybe it was them together. 

Killian directed Emma and Henry into his office, pointing the teenager into a chair. He leaned against his desk and Emma sat down as well. “You want anything to drink?” Killian asked Henry.

“Nah, I’m ok. Thanks though.”

Killian nodded once and glanced at Emma, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She nodded quickly and wondered when they started being able to communicate non-verbally. 

“Henry?” she started and he turned in his chair to look at her. “You want to tell us what exactly’s going on?’

“Mary Margaret said I should come talk to you.”

“And I’m glad you did. I’d just like to hear the entire story first.”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed.   
  
“One I – we,” Emma quickly corrected herself, earning a smile from Killian. “Would both like to here.”

Henry nodded and smiled back. “Ok,” he said before launching into a very detailed story that included everything Mary Margaret had told them at the bar. 

“So I slide home and I knew something was wrong as soon as I touched the plate. It was like nothing I had ever felt. Everything hurt, not just my leg. They had to stretcher me off the field. It was, well it was really bad. The doctor said I broke it in three different spots. Screwed up my ACL for good measure too.”

“Who the hell taught you how to slide?” Kilian asked, incredulously. 

“Killian!” Emma yelled. “That’s not really the point.”

“No, he’s right,” Henry argued. “It was bad. I was always horrible at stealing.”

“When you start playing again, you know, full-time, I could probably help,” Killian said. “If you want.” 

Emma stared at him. Henry looked just as surprised. “You think?” he asked. 

Killian shrugged. “I wasn’t bad at baserunning.”

“Did you play baseball?” Henry’s eyes lit up and Emma didn’t even try to suppress the smile on her face. “Where? When? What position did you play?”

“Slow down,” Killian laughed. “I played baseball,” he said, holding up his hands like a ticker to make sure he answered each of Henry’s questions. “I played here, in New York for awhile and then I played at Louisville. A long time ago. Right field.”

“That’s so cool!”

“It was very cool.”  
  
“You really think you could help me learn how to slide? I’m pretty bad at it.”

“No one starts out a professional. Sure, I can help.”

Emma wasn’t sure what she had just witnessed. She only knew her heart just about jumped into her throat when she watched Killian promise to help Henry. She took a deep breath before trying to redirect the conversation back to less-ideal topics. 

“Henry,” she interjected. His head snapped right towards her. “What do you want us to do? Aside from Killian teaching you how to slide?”

He shrugged. ”Honestly?” Emma nodded. “I don’t know. Mary Margaret said you might be able to help. Maybe we could talk and you could write something and someone would notice and things could change?”

“If you’ve already tried to appeal, I’m not sure what I could do,” Emma said helplessly, glancing at Killian quickly. He leaned forward to put his hand over Emma’s, squeezing it slightly. 

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” he asked Henry. The teenager shook his head quickly. 

“No. I only mentioned it to Mary Margaret because my leg was killing me – running around after eight year olds is kind of exhausting.”

“Why are you still in New York?” Killian continued.

“I don’t get it.”

“What I mean is your eligibility is up – it would have been up even without the injury. Why are you still here and not playing somewhere else? Go to prep school or something.”

“Who exactly is paying for prep school?”

Emma’s heart broke. She was almost certain she could hear it snapping in half, devastated for this kid who simply hadn’t gotten a chance. 

“They give scholarships at prep schools,” Killian said.

“Yeah, to like one percent of kids. It was never going to happen. All I had was school here and the only chance to get into college was a scholarship. I don’t really have a back-up plan.”

“I can understand that.”

“I’ll write something,” Emma said suddenly – two pairs of eyes staring back at her in surprise. 

“What?”

“I’ll write something.”

“You think that’ll fix it?” Henry asked and Emma realized the importance of the question. 

“I can’t promise you anything, kid, but I can tell you that I’ll try. You’ve been dealt a hand you didn’t deserve and I’m going to do everything I can to stack the deck in your favor just a bit. M’s was right, maybe just even getting something out there will help.”

Henry’s mouth hung open and he blinked a few times, barely moving at all. “You still with me, kid?” Emma asked. 

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You listened. Mary Margaret said you would.”

“She knows what she’s talking about.”

“I just want to play again. I miss playing.”

“Have you started running again?” Killian asked. 

Henry shook his head. “They said a few more weeks, but I’ve been trying to swing and stuff. It’s just kind of hard to pay for cage time when I’m working.”

“Tell you what, Henry, you think you’re going to be around on Sunday?” Henry made a noncommittal noise that sounded so much like David at that age that Emma was certain her heart had broken all over again. “I’ve got some people at the cages on the pier. You come around 3’ish and you can hit for awhile.”

“Will you be there?”

“I’m not much of a hitter anymore.”

“But maybe you could give me some pointers? I mean, you played college baseball right? You must have been good?”

“I was ok,” Killian said, evading the question entirely and Emma smiled knowingly at his embarrassment. “I can be there if you want.”

“That would be awesome,” Henry cried with all the enthusiasm of an 18-year-old who had just met a brand-new hero. “Would you come too Emma?” he asked, turning to her again. 

Emma glanced at Killian who widened his eyes, waiting for her answer as much as Henry. “Sure,” she said. “If you want.”

“Yeah, I mean, we can maybe talk some more then if you want. About the story?”

“Sure.”

Henry beamed at both of them before grabbing his backpack off the floor and standing up. “Thanks for listening,” he said. “I just...I just want to play.”

“I’m going to do my best to make sure that happens,” Emma said, laying her hand on his forearm. “Come on kid, we’ll walk you out.”

Henry thanked them once before he walked out the giant doors and back onto the sidewalk in front of  _ The New York Record _ . “I’ll see you guys Sunday,” he yelled and then disappeared into the crowd on 8th Avenue. 

“Why do I feel like we just packed him up and sent him to college?” Emma asked. 

Killian chuckled next to her. “That’s kind of the long-term plan isn’t it?”

“Now I know why Mary Margaret sent him here. I’ve known him for 20 minutes and I want to make sure he starts at third for the New York Yankees in five years.”

“Five years, Swan? You’ve got him on quite a track to the majors.”

“Speaking of which,” she said quickly, spinning to push her finger into his shoulder blade. “How come you didn’t tell him about going pro? He probably would have lost his mind over that.”

“I didn’t go pro.”

“That’s a lie. You got paid to play baseball.”

“Semantics.”

“I don’t think that’s true when there’s an actual paycheck involved.”

“It wasn’t really the pros.”

“It only counts when it’s the big leagues, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Emma knew the conversation was over – she had gotten very good at picking up on Killian’s tone of voice in the last few months, something she refused to overthink  _ at all _ – and didn’t push the issue.

She handed her ID badge back to Leroy, walking back towards the elevators for the sports floor and knew Killian was only a few steps behind her. She also knew the news of their most recent lobby conversation would be across the entire building in an hour. 

“So,” Emma continued once they were in the elevator. “You’ve really got people at Chelsea Piers?”

“Swan,” he responded, leveling her with a stare that made her breath catch a bit and sent a very distinct chill down her spine. “I’ve got people everywhere.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond before they walked into the office and Victor called Killian away for some sort of post-series coverage disaster. He groaned and Emma moved to walk back to her desk, but Killian caught her short. 

“Give me two seconds to fix this and then we’ve got to film later, ok?” 

“Yeah that’s cool.”

He nodded once before sprinting to the other side of the office, leaving Emma wondering how many months it would take before she stopped being surprised by Killian Jones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is - that's the plot point I've been working up to for 21 chapters. I promised you guys length and this one is really only just hitting its stride because this story took over my life. Thank you for every single click, comment and kudos. And if you're interested, feel free to come flail with me on Tumblr: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	23. Chapter 23

Emma stared at her phone for what felt like the fortieth time in the last ten minutes and wondered – again – if she was doing the right thing.

“You’ve got to do it, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, walking around the kitchen counter with an expectant look on her face, practically scaring Emma out of her skin.

“I know,” she replied, putting the phone back on the counter and jumping up alongside it.

Mary Margaret gave her look – which Emma ignored – and crossed her arms over her chest. “Weren’t you the one determined to have coffee before? Get closure?”

“Yes, but that was before he insulted my career and got punched in the face by Killian.”

“And you made out with Killian.”

“I wasn’t going to mention that part.”

“I’m here to help.”

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned again. “I can’t even stay that long,” she muttered. “I’ve got to meet Henry and Killian at 3.”

“Yeah, explain to me again how that happened?”

“I think Henry may have a bit of a hero problem.”  
  
“With Killian?”

“I mean it makes sense,” Emma rationalized. “He played baseball and all Henry wants to do right now is play baseball. So one thing leads to another and Killian’s trying to get the kid to like him and we’re going to Chelsea Piers.”

“You think Killian is doing this for Henry?”

“You don’t?"  
  
Mary Margaret shook her head. “Not entirely. I think a good chunk of it has to do with you.”

“He already knows I like him.”

“Yeah, as friends.”  
  
“You make it sound like a dirty word.”

“It’s not and if that’s what you really want then cool. I won’t ever mention it again. I liked having the four of us hang out.”

“No more musketeers?” Emma asked, only teasing her slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The three of us will always be that. Always. But I also think it was nice that you weren’t by yourself. I know you feel like the odd one out sometimes.”

“I’ve never said that,” Emma argued.

“You don’t have to Emma. I know you. And I get it,” Mary Margaret walked over to her and jumped up onto the counter next to where Emma was still sitting. “I am – and always will be – Team Emma and Team Emma happiness.”

“I know you are. The feeling is mutual by the way.”

“I know it is.”

They sat silent for a few moments and Emma wondered again what she had ever done to deserve Mary Margaret. Probably something in another life. She certainly hadn’t ever been good enough in this one to deserve her friend.

Then her phone went off and ruined the whole damn moment.

“God,” Mary Margaret muttered. “He really was the worst wasn’t he?”

Emma laughed, nodding as she grabbed her phone.

_Ems – I’m about to head over, you really want to meet all the way over?_

“Closure, right?” Emma asked, knocking her shoulder slightly with Mary Margaret’s.

“Closure.”

**_Yeah – it’s got to be over there or I can’t go. I’ve got to be at the Piers at 3._ **

She made it to Starbucks just after 2 o’clock, opening the door and scanning the small crowd for Neal. He was sitting to the side – already nursing a coffee. Emma did her best not to sigh.

“Hey," she said as she walked up towards the table.

“Hey Ems! You want something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’re not going to get a drink?’

“I’ve got to go kind of soon.”

“You said 3 o’clock,” Neal said and Emma tried to ignore the small accusation in his voice.

“I’ve got to walk over though.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, that’s true. What do you have to do?”  
  
“I’m meeting a lead,” Emma said. Well that wasn’t _totally_ a lie.

“Always working.”

Emma shrugged. “Eh, that’s not true so much anymore. I’ve kind of _made_ it, so to speak.”

“I’ve never known you to be satisfied by much, Ems,” Neal smiled at her. “It’s always on to the next goal.”

“This was the next goal, Neal. Just because I’ve got it doesn’t mean I’ve settled though.”

“I don’t know,” he argued. “You looked pretty comfortable the last time I saw you.”

“We really going to do this again?”

“I just wish you’d tell me what was going on, Em.”

“One, I’m not sure you deserve to know what’s going on. Two, it’s not any of your business.”  
  
“So there is something going on.”

“Are you serious?” she groaned.

“I wish you’d just talk to me.”

“You haven’t been around for six years, Neal!” Her voice was starting to rise of its own accord. “You left. You found something better and you walked away.”

“I was a kid. I was overwhelmed. You always had something better to do, Emma.”

“You were a kid?” Emma asked, doing her best to keep her voice level. “You were 22 years old Neal. You don’t get to use the kid excuse here. Immature, sure. But not a kid. Let’s be honest, you were scared.”

“Of course I was Emma. You were so – I don’t even know what the word is – focused, I guess. It was intimidating.”

“That’s not my problem. At all.”

“Keep up or get out of your way, huh?”

“You know you sound a bit like a kid now.”

Neal leaned his head on his hand and stared at her appraisingly. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted.

“Why did you find me, Neal? You could have picked up that paper and seen the byline and moved on with your life. Why’d you come looking for me?”

“I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“What would make you think I wasn’t ever going to be ok?”

“I know I fucked up Em and I know it’s been a long time, but I guess I just wanted you to know that I never really forgave myself.”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Emma asked. “Forgiveness?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re forgiven,” she said easily. “It’s been a very long time, Neal and I’ve had a long time to move on.”  
  
“With Killian?”

Emma groaned. “No. With my life and my friends. M’s and David never left. Not once. They’ve been the most important and most supportive people in my life – through all of this. And you can go home and it will be exactly the same. They’ll always be there.”

“The three musketeers,” Neal mumbled.

“Exactly that.”

“You’re really happy? Honestly, that’s all I want to know. It may not seem like it, but I want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” Emma said. She didn’t stumble over the words – for possibly the first time in a very long time – and smiled. “Really.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled back, reaching out to put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry about before.”

“You probably should be.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” Neal did his best to look apologetic and Emma – almost – believed him completely. “I am. I just don’t want to see you wasting potential.”  
  
“You know how ridiculous that sounds? You know what I spent the last two weeks doing? I covered an NBA championship series. That’s a big deal, Neal. It’s not stocks, but it’s a big fucking deal.”

“I know you think so Emma…”

“No,” she cut him off. “I don’t think. That’s exactly what I know. You’re kind of fucking up the apology here.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, sticking his hand in his hair and Emma was suddenly struck with how much she wanted to get out of there. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“I won’t say it’s fine because it’s not, but I want this to be over Neal.”  
  
“Over?”  
  
“You’re going home. I’ve got a job to do. I don’t want to have wonder, another six years down the line, what you think of me or why you left. I want this to be over.”

“It’s definitely over.”

“Good.”

“You gotta go?”

“Yeah.” Emma said, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Have a safe flight, ok?” Neal nodded, standing up as well and putting his hand on Emma’s arm. He tugged slightly and pulled her into a quick hug, catching her by surprise.

“I hope it all works out, Emma,” he mumbled next to her ear before releasing her.

“Bye Neal.”

“Bye Emma.”

She didn’t feel any different as she walked the few blocks towards the Piers – she thought she would have felt lighter or..something. She felt exactly the same. That probably meant something.

Emma walked up to the field house, swinging open the doors and approaching the desk. “I’m looking for Killian Jones?” Emma asked the guy behind the desk. He simply nodded towards his left and Emma’s eyes followed where he was directing her.

Killian was wearing another Louisville baseball shirt – she silently wondered how many of those he had – and dark wash jeans that tapered in towards his ankles. She couldn’t figure out when he found time to work out, but it was fairly obvious he was making it work.

_And work_.

Nope. That was a path she could not go down that afternoon.

Emma stared for a few more moments, listening to Killian’s instructions to Henry, who was standing in one of the cages, decked out in a t-shirt and gym shorts – also of the Louisville variety – helmet on and a bat on his shoulder.

“You’re swinging too early,” Killian said, evenly, leaning against the side of the cage. “And choke up on your wrists some more. You’re too loose there.”

Henry nodded once and stepped back into the box, making contact on the first ball he faced. “See,” Killian muttered, only gloating a little bit. Henry nodded again and Emma could see his smile from where she was standing.

“You sure you don’t want to hit, Killian?” Henry asked. “I bet you’d wreck in a cage.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Killian argued. “I’ve spent plenty of time hitting. We’ll fix your swing first and then worry about me. Plus,” he said, glancing over at Emma. “I think we’ve got company.”

“How did you know I was here?” Emma asked.

“I have eyes, Swan.”  
  
“You seemed awfully focused.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure Henry can understand if I share that focus.” He glanced at the teenager as if to prove his point. “You cool with that?”

Henry nodded. “I’m cool with that.”

“Do you want to hit, Swan?” Killian asked, the smirk on his face making her think more and more about that path she _definitely_ did not want to go down.

“I’d rather not be the butt of the joke this afternoon, so no, I don’t want to hit.”

“You wound me, Swan. I’d hardly make fun of your swing.”

“It would be too easy, I promise.”

“Maybe Henry isn’t the only one who could use a few pointers.”

“Why don’t you direct all that energy on him first and then you can, maybe, worry about my swing.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, love.”

Emma rolled her eyes, turning her attention towards Henry. “You doing ok?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered enthusiastically. “I’ve hit just about everything.”

“That’s awesome!”

“You want to go another round, Henry?” Killian asked, taking a few steps closer to Emma and looping his arm around her shoulders.

“If you don’t mind.”

“We came here for a reason. I can’t help if I can’t see you hit.”

“I mean...that does make sense.”

“Go another round. It’s fine.”

“Thanks!”

Killian pulled Emma back from the cage, hitting a button as he moved and staring intently at Henry’s stance in the box. “Your feet are too wide,” he muttered as Henry pulled the bat back and missed the ball completely.

“How do you know that?” Henry exclaimed, not taking his eye off the machine in front of him.

“Literal years of practice. Bend your knees.”

Henry hit it and let out a shrill whoop of exclamation. “How _do_ you know that?” Emma asked, turning towards him.

“Did you miss the part where I mentioned literal years of practice? That wasn’t hyperbole.”  
  
“Pulling out the SAT words. I like the emphasis.”

Killian’s arm still hadn’t left her shoulder and he smiled down at Emma with a look that screamed just about everything _but_ friends. “I’m just trying to prove a point.”

“And what is that?”

“I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ve never doubted that for a second,” Emma said honestly. “And I don’t think you need to prove anything to Henry. You may just have found yourself a new No. 1 fan.”

As if on cue, Henry spun around in the cage, staring at Killian expectantly. “How was that?” he asked.

“A lot better,” Killian said. “You’re still too loose at the wrists though. If you tighten up, you’ll get more power.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically again. Emma was surprised he wasn’t bouncing around the walls of the cage. “Can we go again?” he asked.

“Why don’t you come out for a few minutes and talk to Emma some more and then we can go a couple more times. Deal?”

“Deal,” Henry said, pulling off his helmet and leaning his bat up against the corner of the cage.

Killian jogged towards the far end of the pier, grabbing two more folding chairs and bringing them back to where Emma and Henry were still standing. The three of them sat down and Killian reached into his bag, tossing Henry a bottle of water.

“You’re practically a boy scout,” Emma joked. He just smirked at her.

“What do you want to know, Emma? Henry asked, taking a sip of water and setting the bottle next to him on the ground.

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

Henry nodded and took a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s talk.”

* * *

Three weeks later and Emma was starting to feel decidedly disgruntled.

It was the dead of summer, which meant several things all at once – there was only Major League Baseball on the coverage-horizon for weeks, all of New York smelled vaguely of garbage and she couldn’t find anything, anywhere that would actually help Henry play baseball that spring.

The last one didn’t really have much to do with summer, but it was what had Emma the most disgruntled, so it got lumped in with everything else.

It was Saturday night and she was sitting on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by small stacks of papers – detailed files on New York City high school sports rules – while Mary Margaret and David were mumbling in the kitchen. Killian was sitting cross-legged on the couch, his own small stack of papers next to him.

Emma heard him sigh and looked him to find him running his hand through his hair, his own look of general disgruntled-ness on his face.

“You ok there, cap?” she said, filling her voice with so much sarcasm, she was surprised her teeth didn’t rot with it.

Killian raised one eyebrow at her and looked up over the papers he was holding. “I’m not sure I like when you do that, Swan.”

“Everybody else does.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.”

“Just trying to be part of the group.”

“That seems unecesarry.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but smiled at him, standing up and perching herself on the arm of the couch next to him. He leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes lightly. “Seriously,” she continued. “You ok?”

“I just don’t know how we’re going to do this, Swan. Everything I’ve read shuts down our whole case before we’ve even really begun.”

It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, I know,” she admitted. “I doesn’t look good. But there’s gotta be something, right? I mean, I just can’t imagine telling him we didn’t find anything.”

“Is that hope I hear, Swan?”

“Maybe a little bit. I don’t want to let him down.”

“I don’t think you could if you tried.”

“Well when you’re competing against a former professional baseball player, it’s tough to feel too confident.”

Killian rolled his head to the left, staring at her skeptically. “There are several things wrong with that statement,” he said softly.

“Enlighten me.”

“First of all, there is no competition here. And even if there were, you’d be winning. Secondly, I am not a former professional baseball player.”

“Two things hardly seems like _several_ , particularly when one of those two things were entirely wrong.”

“We’ve already had this discussion, Swan.”

“And somehow I still don’t agree with you.”

He groaned, dragging his hand over his face. “You are honestly the most stubborn woman I have ever met in my life.”

“Emma, stubborn?” David asked, a smile on the corners of his mouth as he turned the corner and walked out of the kitchen. “Unheard of.”

Emma stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned at her. “I like to think of it as more _determined_ than stubborn.”

“Whatever you say,” David shrugged. “What were you refusing to agree to?”

“Killian seems to be under the impression he was not a professional baseball player at some point in his life.”

David lowered his eyebrows, sinking into the far end of the couch. “Well that’s not true.”

“See!” Emma exclaimed, smacking Killian’s shoulder lightly. He grimaced at her, pulling her hand down and squeezing her fingers slightly.

“It doesn’t count, Swan.”

“Look who’s being stubborn now.”

“Weren’t you drafted, Killian?” Mary Margaret interjected, joining the conversation while still cutting up something in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly.

“Third overall,” Emma added. Killian glared at her, but she simply widened her eyes, almost daring him to object. He didn’t. “He made it to Triple-A. That’s practically majors.”

“Practically being the key word here.”

“I don’t get why you won’t admit that was impressive. You make good money in Triple-A. You were the highest pick Louisville ever had! You actually skipped rookie ball.”

“Are you stalking me, Swan?” He smirked at her, but Emma could see the warning in his eyes. She was pushing it. She didn’t care.

“I know how to google things. You were good, Killian. Really good. Why won’t you admit that?”

Killian stood up so quickly, Emma nearly fell off the side of the couch. David shot her a questioning look, but Emma couldn’t take her eyes of Killian, rubbing his hand and glaring at her.

“I’m going to go get some air,” he said quickly, walking out the door before anyone had a chance to respond.

“What was that about?” Mary Margaret asked. David shrugged. Emma knew.

She had pushed and she had lost.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret continued.

She stood up, tugging on the end of her shirt and shook her head quickly. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered, walking towards the door.

“Maybe you should give him some space for a sec,” David suggested, but Emma just shook her head again, practically slamming the door behind her.

She didn’t have to go very far – he was sitting in the stairwell.

His head lifted up slightly when he heard her walking and Emma noticed he shook his head slightly.

“The whole point in getting some air was to be by myself for a second,” he said, mostly to the ground.

“You should have been more specific then.”

Killian laughed darkly – definitely shaking his head that time – and leaned his head on his hands. Emma walked the few steps towards him and sank down onto the step next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Why did you?”

She shrugged. “I was trying to get you to be proud of yourself for once. It’s ok.”

“Eh,” he sighed, bending the fingers on his left hand slightly. “It’s hard to do that when I know how stupid it all was.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was.”

“Killian,” Emma said patiently, reaching forward to grab his hand softly. She heard his breath hitch and tried to ignore her own faster-than-normal heart beat. “It was not your fault. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. And just because you can’t play baseball or never made it to the majors doesn’t make you any less of a person.” She squeezed his hand again for emphasis and nudged her knee towards his. “You’re allowed to talk about what you did. It’s ok.”

“It’s not the happiest story, Swan.”

“That’s ok. Stories without a little bit of tragedy aren’t really my thing. I’m more concerned with what happens after said tragedy anyway.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, staring at him. _God_ his eyes were blue.

“What do you think should happen?”

“I think the hero should be more confident.”

“Am I the hero in this situation?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Killian laughed skeptically. “I don’t know that’s ever been the case.”

“Have you heard Henry when he talks to you? He certainly thinks you’re a hero. He thinks you know everything.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one spending your Saturday night rummaging through city-bylaws trying to find a way for the kid to play again.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Feeling sorry for myself.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“I’ve done enough of that, love. I spent a good time wallowing. I did tell you I was fairly well acquainted with rum before – that’s when we really got to know each other,” he laughed again and Emma could practically feel the self-loathing rolling off him in waves.

“Liam hated it,” he continued. “Of course. But Liam was already the responsible one. He taught me how to swing, you know?”

“Yeah?” Emma couldn’t breathe. He was sharing and talking and opening up and she was _transfixed_.

Killian nodded. “From the time I was seven until the day I got hurt. He was like a built-in coach who lived on the other side of the room. It took awhile to get it right – we broke a fair share of windows – but it worked out pretty well. I could hit, Swan.”

“Liam was there when I got drafted,” he continued, staring straight ahead. He kept his hand wrapped up in Emma’s. “They only bring a couple of guys to the actual draft, but all the reports said I’d probably go early, so they flew us to Jersey and set us up in this ridiculous hotel that was nicer than anywhere we’d ever even thought about living when we were kids. And I went third. That was earlier than any of the projections. Liam practically had to hold my hand so it wouldn’t shake once I signed.”

“He kind of sounds like M’s,” Emma mumbled. Killian looked up at her, eyebrows lifted. “She’s always been there, since I got to Storybrooke. She saw me as some sort of friendship challenge, I think. She was very persistent. And she’s been around ever since. I don’t know what I did to deserve her. Or David for that matter.”

“Swan,” he said slowly, turning his hand slightly so his fingers entwined with hers. “You really don’t think that do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“And you say I should be more confident,” he scoffed. “You’re not nearly as horrible as you seem to think you are. People care about you, Swan. They should.”

“You?”

“Me,” Killian said and Emma wasn’t sure how he managed to infuse two letters with so much determination.

“They like you, you know,” Emma nodded back towards her door.

“Yeah? I like them.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m sorry for blowing up,” Killian muttered, ducking his gaze from hers.

“If that was blowing up then I shudder to imagine what you’d think of me when I get mad.”

“As if I could think anything but good of you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Are you ok? Really?’

“I’ll be fine, Swan,” he answered. She tilted her head in unspoken question. “Really. I don’t wallow very often anymore.”

“Liam keep you in line?” Emma joked, bumping her shoulder into hers. She felt him stiffen slightly and wondered quickly what she had said. She looked up to find him staring straight ahead, biting his lip slightly. “What?” she asked.

“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, not looking at her. Emma could see the walls going up as clear as if he were building them in front of her.

She didn’t – _couldn’t_ – push again, fear of an actual blowup taking place in her stairwell. So she changed the subject. “You really think we can find something for Henry tonight?”

That seemed to relax him and he slumped forward slightly. “Maybe,” he said. “We can at least keep looking. I’ve yet to see you fail, Swan.”

Emma nodded and did her best to smile, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she had said something horribly wrong. “Come on, cap,” she said, standing up and tugging on his hand slightly. “You hungry?”

“I thought we had decided not to do the nickname thing?”  
  
“You get not one, but two nicknames and I don’t even get to follow the rest of the sports department?”

“I’m a bit partial to ‘Killian,’ when it comes to you Swan,” he said, taking a step forward and ushering her down the hallway.

“Double standards,” she muttered, opening the door and glancing over her shoulder. He just smiled at her.

Mary Margaret really should win some sort of medal for her ability to cook, Emma thought after helping her roommate put leftovers in the fridge. She had pulled out all the stops – baked macaroni and cheese was a Mary Margaret speciality – and all but forced a Tupperware container on Killian, who had done his best to assure her that he was perfectly capable of feeding himself.

“Don’t fight it,” Emma said. “She’s not going to take no for an answer.”

Killian nodded. “Fair enough. Thank you, Mary Margaret. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Two hours later and the four of them were still firmly entrenched in living room research – Mary Margaret and David had somehow been roped into all of this as well – and Emma was starting to get bleary eyed as she stared another box score.

Then, it hit her. She found an angle.

“Wait!” she shouted, earning three very surprised faces. “I found something.”

“What?” Killian asked, setting his own set of papers down in front of him.

“He didn’t play in eighth grade.”

“I thought he said he did.”

“No, he did,” Emma argued. “But he never actually played. He just got called up to fill a roster spot for playoffs or something. We’ll have to double check with Henry, but if these box scores are right, he didn’t take a single at bat during the three games he was on varsity that spring.”

“You did it, Swan,” Killian said, smiling at her with something akin to pride on his face.

“I haven’t done anything yet. I still have to check with Henry.”

“I’ll tell him to give you a call on Monday,” Mary Margaret said. “He can leave early too if he has to. I’ll cover for him.”

“You’re the best M’s.”

She just shrugged. “You’re the one who figured it out.”

“As previously mentioned, I haven’t actually done anything yet. I’ve just found an in.”

“That’s a step in the right direction,” David argued and Emma knew she was outnumbered.

“We need to celebrate!” Mary Margaret exclaimed. “I have wine.”

“What are we celebrating?” Emma asked. “I found one thing.”  
  
“One thing that could change this kid’s entire life, Swan,” Killian said, offering her his hand so she could stand up. Mary Margaret was already uncorking a bottle. “C’mon, take a break. You can be done for the night.”

Emma sighed, but knew there was no use in arguing. David was already back in the kitchen with Mary Margaret and Killian was standing in front of Emma, staring at her expectantly. “Fine,” she mumbled.

She let Killian direct her into the kitchen – suddenly very small with four people crammed inside it – and took the glass Mary Margaret offered her.

“He’s going to be so excited, Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “Do you think you can get something in print this week?”

“Probably not. If I’m going to meet him on Monday, I want to make sure I’ve got some time to double check some things and maybe get a comment from the city. It’ll probably have to wait until after the wedding.”

“The wedding,” David repeated, shaking his hands slightly as if he were cowering at the thought of the upcoming weekend of activities.

“Did you read Regina’s latest e-mail blast?” Mary Margaret asked, rolling her eyes. It was a small move, but one that Emma knew spoke volumes about the way her friend felt about the event.

“I got two,” Emma responded. “The bridesmaids blast and my very own personal e-mail critiquing my lack of a date once again.”

It wasn’t until she felt Killian’s hand on her shoulder that Emma realized what she had just said. Her throat suddenly went very dry.

Mary Margaret glanced nervously between Emma and Killian, picking up on the tension immediately. David, however, was not as quick on the upswing.

“You should come, Killian,” he said and Emma did her best not to collapse on the floor. “Then maybe Regina would leave Emma alone.”

Emma glared at David and he – finally – realized what he had done. His eyes widened in fear and he looked to Mary Margaret for help. His girlfriend ignored him. Emma appreciated that.

“I’m not worried about Regina,” Emma lied.

Killian didn’t say anything. Emma wasn’t entirely certain he was still breathing.

“She does seem awfully demanding, Swan,” he muttered, finally breaking the silence in the kitchen.

“It is her wedding,” Emma argued. “I hear you’re allowed to be demanding then.”

“To a point.”

“Eh,” Emma shrugged. “I really almost don’t mind. And anyway, who cares about a date? Elsa will be there and I haven’t seen Ingrid in months. She’s closing the store for the whole weekend.”

“That sounds nice,” he said and Emma was almost certain she heard some kind of longing in his voice. She ignored that. “It’s getting kind of late, Swan,” he continued, putting his glass on the counter – completely untouched. “I should probably get going.”

Emma knew her face dropped as soon as he finished speaking. She didn’t care. “I can walk you out,” she offered. He just nodded. Mary Margaret reached into the fridge, pulling his designated macaroni and cheese out and forcing into his hands.  

“I thought you would have forgotten,” Killian teased.

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“In my experience journalists forget to eat. Now you don’t have an excuse.”

“Thank you,” he said seriously and Emma’s pulse thudded slightly, wondering the last time anyone actually went out of their way for Killian Jones.

He smiled once more at Mary Margaret and nodded in David’s direction before grabbing his coat off the hanger near the door and looking at Emma. “I can walk down stairs by myself, love, you don’t have to put shoes on.”

“No, it’s fine,” Emma said, shaking her head. She needed to get out of her apartment for a second. Killian just shrugged, walking out the door.

They descended the two flights in silence and Emma wondered if she could actually work up the courage to do this. He opened the door to the street and turned around in the frame, staring at her slightly.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Swan,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But, um, before you go, I’ve got a question.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Well, I just, I was wondering…”

“Spit it out Swan.”

“David kind of beat me to it.”

Killian’s eyes widened for half a second before he smiled at her. “That so?”

“He has a habit of doing things like that.”

“Well, for what it’s worth Swan, I would have offered myself, but I didn’t want to send you running for the metaphorical hills.”

“What?” She hadn’t expected that.

“You have mentioned it a few times, love. And I’ve read Regina’s vaguely threatening e-mails enough times to know that if you do show up to this thing dateless, she’s going to make the weeknd very difficult for you.”

“And you think you’re the answer to that?”

“Don’t you?”

Emma gaped at him. She did. She just didn’t want to tell him that. “Maybe.”

“Then ask.”

“It seems silly when you already know.”

“Those are the rules.”

“There are rules now?!”

“Just ask the question, Swan,” Killian said, laughter creeping into his voice.

“Do you think, well, would you want to maybe go to this wedding? You know, with me?” She nearly stumbled back at the sight of his answering smile. “You know, as friends,” she added, quickly, hating herself for it.

His smile faltered for just a moment – Emma wasn’t certain she had even seen it – but he nodded. “I would love to, Swan.”

“Yeah?” she asked, quietly, her nerves getting the best of her again. “Because you don’t have to. And it’s short notice and you’ve got to be gone for like five days. I mean will _The Record_ be cool with that?”

He rolled his eyes at her, but he was still smiling and Emma took that as a good sign. “I just told you I would have asked you myself and you’re worried I don’t actually want to go? _The Record_ will survive. There’s only baseball, what could they possibly mess up? And I could not tell you the last time I took a vacation.”

“This is hardly a vacation.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Emma argued.

“I do. And I want to go. So let me.”

“This is about me letting you go now?”

“Absolutely.”

“I want you to go.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Killian said, running his hand up and down her arm. “I’ll see you on Monday, love.”

Emma nodded slowly as he walked back down the block, trying desperately to process everything that had happened in the last few hours. David was going to be insufferable about this.

She took her time walking back up to the apartment, determined to get her breathing level back to normal. _Friends_ . They were going as friends. He was there to make sure Regina would leave her alone. For five days. In Storybrooke. With Ingrid. And Elsa. And oh _God_ , where was he going to stay?

Emma was walking back into the apartment before she realized she had even opened the door and looked up to see both David and Mary Margaret watching her nervously.

“I’m taking Killian to the wedding. I don’t want to talk about it. That’s all,” she said quickly, collapsing into the sofa.

Mary Margaret exchanged a meaningful look with David, but neither one of them objected. “Ok,” Mary Margaret said softly, sitting down next to Emma and handing her the unfinished glass of wine from before.

Emma drank it in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to Storybrooke! We'll be there for a little while, so settle in for that trip. As per usual, thank you so much for every click, comment and kudos. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I've also fallen down the Tumblr rabbit hole, so come flail with me there too if you want: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	24. Chapter 24

“Swan,” he said, moving his shoulder up slightly for emphasis. 

Emma groaned and opened her eyes slowly. “What?” she mumbled.

“You’ve got to wake up love, I think we’re here.”

“How do you know that? It’s not like you’ve ever been to Storybrooke before.” Emma wasn’t exactly at her best when she had just woken up. She was even worse when she had only slept a few hours before being forced on an eight-hour train ride, still trying to figure out what she was going to do with her mess of emotions for Killian Jones. 

He had shown up that morning, suitcase and hot chocolate in hand, ready and willing to play date to Regina Mills’ monstrous wedding-weekend extravaganza. 

Emma didn’t understand why. 

She was just happy he was here. And she had fallen asleep just a few hours into the trip, waking up to find herself cocooned into Killian’s side, his hoodie draped over her. 

He laughed at her, tightening his hold around her shoulders. “You bring up a very good point, Swan,” he admitted. “But, I think Mary Margaret saying, ‘Killian, wake Emma up, we’re here,’ gave me a fairly good idea of our location.”

She groaned again and buried her face in his shoulder. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m not sure you have much of a choice. I don’t think they’ll let us stay on the train.”

Killian moved his shoulder again and Emma got the hint – sitting up and glancing out the window. There was a crowd on the platform. 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” David teased, leaning across the aisle to grab a suitcase from above Killian and Emma. 

“Shut up,” Emma snapped. David just smiled at her. “M’s did you see this?” she asked, nodding towards the window. 

Mary Margaret nodded, but Emma could see her nerves as well. “Yeah,” she replied. “I think my dad made sure everyone was here.”

“Jeez.”

“What’s going on?” Killian asked. Emma heard the concern in his voice and smiled at him for the first time since she had woken up. 

“There’s a bit of a welcoming party out there for us.” 

Killian glanced out the window and widened his eyes. There were at least 20 people on the platform. “That’s all for you?” he asked. He suddenly looked a little nervous as well. 

“Eh, M’s really, but I guess David and I get lumped in as well, the consorts of her Royal Highness Mary Margaret of Storybrooke.” 

Killian looked confused for a moment, but Emma continued to smile, glancing over to see Mary Margaret’s reaction. “Emma, you know that’s not true,”

“You’re right, David would really be your only consort. I’d have to think of another title for myself.” 

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m right.”

“I’m still a little lost,” Killian admitted, standing up next to David to grab a suitcase and throw it in his now-empty seat. 

“Mary Margaret doesn’t like to admit it, but she is also Storybrooke royalty. She’s downgrading her status by associating with me and David all these years.”

“Emma is exaggerating,” Mary Margaret said to Killian. 

“Eh, I don’t know babe,” David interjected. “The Blanchard-Mills clan is kind of like the first family of Storybrooke.”

“Not you too!”

“It’s just a fact.”

“Does this mean I’ve won?” Emma asked, excitedly, reaching out to grab the bag still sitting in Killian’s seat. He swatted her hand away and picked it up himself. 

“There’s not anything to win, Emma,” Mary Margaret said patiently, stepping into the aisle and crossing her arms – teacher pose. “I am not a princess, you are not a consort, there is no lowering myself to be with either you or David. They are out there for  _ all _ of us.”

“That is a very large lie M’s, but I promise to be good and play along.”

“That’s all I ask.” 

The train skidded to a stop and Emma’s back collided with Killian – with a lot more force than she was expecting. He grunted slightly – unable to brace himself since he was carrying so much luggage – but stayed upright, leaning back into Emma. 

“Try not to kill me before we get out there, huh Swan?” 

“I will do my best,” she said turning around and reaching for a suitcase again. He looked at her like she was crazy. “What?” she asked. 

“I got it.”

“Are you serious?”  
  
“Walk, Swan, or they’re going to throw us off this train.” Mary Margaret and David were already out of sight, stepping onto the platform and Emma was certain she actually heard cheers. 

“Such a gentleman,” she said, laughing slightly as he nudged her forward with a suitcase. 

“I’m always a gentleman.”

“Yuh huh.”

Emma wasn’t nervous when she stepped off the train – she wasn’t. She wanted to see Ingrid and Elsa and it was actually nice to be out of the city for a little while. For the little girl who never thought she’d find a home, it was nice to have one to miss. 

Then she saw the crowd and the small army of people who had come out to see M’s and her breath hitched in her throat slightly and the nerves came crashing down on her in waves. 

She stopped walking for a moment and stared at the sight in front of her, briefly considering getting back on the train and going back to New York – until she felt a hand in hers that all but rooted her to the spot. 

Emma wasn’t sure how he was doing it – what with all the luggage in his other hand – but Killian had found his way next to her, sneaking his left hand into her right and squeezing it. She looked to her right to find him staring at her, a small, but encouraging smile on his lips. 

“Come on Swan,” he muttered. “Let’s go meet the firing squad.”

She nodded once, keeping her hand firmly locked in his and took a few steps forward onto the platform. Mary Margaret was surrounded by her family, wrapped up in a hug with her father, Regina standing to the side looking slightly perturbed that someone was stealing  _ her  _ moment. 

David’s mother was beaming at him a few feet away, both hands on his shoulders to make sure he was really there. 

Emma glanced around quickly, trying to find Ingrid and Elsa. “See them?” Killian asked, softly and Emma shook her head. 

She heard her sister before she saw her. “Emma! Emma!” Elsa yelled, sprinting towards her. Emma yelped and jumped up, letting go of Killian’s hand and running closer to her sister, noticing quickly that Ingrid wasn’t far behind. 

She pulled Elsa closer to her and hugged her sister tightly. “Hello Ms. college graduate with the very important job already,” Emma said, smiling widely. Elsa rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not that important.”

“It is too! Working in the mayor’s office is a big deal, El. People wait forever for jobs like that. They don’t get them right out of college.”

“Look who’s talking. How many people read your stories?”  
  
“I didn’t just graduate college.”

“Whatever.”

Emma laughed and looked up at Ingrid, who was smiling so widely it looked as if she had never been so happy. “Hey Ingrid,” she said, turning to her and hugging her as well. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ingrid replied quietly, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders like she did when she was 12. “Welcome home.”

Emma bit her lip, doing her best not to cry. “Emma…” Ingrid continued, glancing over her shoulder. Emma looked up to find her staring questioningly at Killian, still there and still holding luggage. 

“Oh!” Emma said, quickly turning behind her to reach for Killian’s hand again. He smiled at her. “Ingrid, El, this is Killian Jones.”

Killian – finally – put the suitcases down next to him and reached out one hand towards Ingrid and Elsa. His other hand was still very much tied up with Emma’s. 

“It’s so nice to meet both of you,” he said. 

“You too Killian,” Ingrid said, shaking his hand. Elsa glanced back and forth between the three of them and Emma could see the gears working. Her sister was very perceptive. 

“You work at  _ The Record _ too, don’t you?” Elsa asked, shaking Killian’s hand as well. He nodded. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re the one in the videos.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“So you’re kind of in charge of everything then?”

“El…” Emma warned, but her sister shook her head. 

“I kind of am,” Killian agreed. 

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Sometimes.”

“I wish we had known you were coming, Killian,” Ingrid interjected. “I would have brought you something for Granny’s too.” It was only then that Emma noticed the paper cup and bag emblazoned with Granny’s logo in Ingrid’s hand. She bit her lip. 

“Oh,” Killian responded, masking his surprise quickly. “That’s alright. They had a snack car on the train actually, so I’m good.”

“Liar,” Emma muttered, taking the bag out of Ingrid’s hand and pulling out the pastry in it. “It’s cool, Ingrid, we can share it.”

Ingrid nodded, a knowing smile on her face. Elsa looked particularly pleased as well. Emma ignored both of them. 

“Did you say hi to the Blanchards, Emma?” Ingrid asked. 

“No,” she replied quietly. “I was looking for you for first.”

“You better go before Mr. Blanchard comes over and demands an audience. Bring Killian with you, let him get a glimpse of the first family.” 

“But,” Emma started to object. 

Ingrid just shook her head. “Go, we’ll be here when you get back.”

Emma’s shoulders slumped, but she wasn’t all that interested in shaking up the Storybrooke hierarchy – at least not on a Wednesday afternoon. “You want to meet some people?” she asked Killian.

“Of course.”

She kept her hand in his as she walked towards the small crowd still around Mary Margaret – now joined by David and his mother – but Killian pulled her up short before they got there.

“What?” she asked. 

“You didn’t tell your mom I was coming? Or your sister?”

Damn. They got to that point much quicker than she thought they would. Emma did her best to smile, but knew she looked as nervous as she felt. “Swan?” he prompted.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she answered honestly. 

“Why? That ashamed of me?” he asked and she knew he was trying to keep his voice light, but Emma could almost hear the slight tinge of disappointment there as well. 

“Of course not,” she objected. “I just...I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“Jinx it?”

“Well, yeah, I mean what if you hadn’t been able to get the time off or something happened? It would have been worse to say something and then have you not show up. Everybody already thought I was coming by myself.”  He really did look hurt. Emma bit her lip again. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. 

“What exactly is it going to take to make you trust me?”

“I do trust you.”

“That does not seem to be the case.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I know you are Swan, but that’s kind of my point. You shouldn’t be. I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I don’t know that you could if you tried,” she muttered, mostly into his shoulder. 

She felt him laugh underneath her and smiled at the movement, leaning into him as his hand rested on her waist. “See, that’s the kind of trust I’m talking about.”

Emma was dangerously close to some kind of emotional outburst – chock full of sentimental nonsense – when she was interrupted by the welcoming party still on the platform. 

“Emma!” Mr. Blanchard called at her, prompting her to lift her head up. Killian’s hand dropped from her waist quickly, as if he was some sort of teenager who had just been caught doing something wrong. “You made it!”

“I did,” Emma replied, smiling at Mary Margaret’s father. 

“How was your trip?”

“Probably better than M’s. I slept through most of it.”

“That’s the best way to do it.”

“Agreed.”

“And this is…” Mr. Blanchard started, staring questioningly at Killian. 

“Killian Jones,” he said, once again reaching out to shake another hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Emma glanced over at him, impressed. He just smiled. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. And how long have you and Emma been dating?”

Ah, there it was. 

Emma had expected it, certain she was ready for the questions – she hadn’t realized how wrong she would be. Her stomach flipped at the few words, staring at her feet and doing her best to ignore the way Killian felt next to her. 

He didn’t say anything for a few moments and Emma seized the chance to get some control back. “Killian and I aren’t dating Mr. Blanchard,” she said. “He’s just here as a friend to make sure I have someone to dance with.”

It wasn’t a fair description of what he was – she did her best to get the words  _ boyfriend _ and  _ Killian Jones _ out of her head – and Emma glanced in his direction, doing her best to apologize without saying anything. 

Mr. Blanchard nodded and opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when he wife joined them. “Emma,” Cora Mills said, with a distinct edge to her voice. 

“Mayor Mills,” Emma responded, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. 

“You brought a date.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve had seating arrangements done for weeks.” Emma bit her lip. She hadn’t really thought of that. She figured Regina wouldn’t be pleased that Killian had come with her, but Emma assumed she would have only needed to battle one Mills woman that weekend. She hadn’t expected to take on the mayor as well. 

“It’s alright Cora,” Mr. Blanchard said, lightly putting his hand on his wife’s arm. “We can find one more chair, I’m sure.”

“I believe one of Robin’s friends won’t be able to make it either,” she said, still staring at Emma. “So your date will have a meal as well.”

“Thanks Mayor Mills,” Emma mumbled. Cora nodded once before walking away, followed shortly by Mr. Blanchard who shot Emma an apologetic look over her shoulder. Emma slumped against Killian’s side. 

“Now I see where Regina gets all her tact from,” he said, looping his arm over Emma’s shoulders. 

“Wait until you actually meet Regina,” Emma said. “I really am sorry about all of this. I didn’t even think about you not getting fed.”

“Well we’ve avoided that particular catastrophe Swan, so I think we’re doing alright so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” He looked down at her and raised his eyebrows. 

“Good,” she said. “You want to head home? We can drop the luggage off.”

“Seems like a plan, love.”

Emma nodded once and directed her attention back towards Ingrid and Elsa, still standing off to the side, but got distracted when Mary Margaret came running towards her, eyes a bit wild. 

“M’s?” Emma asked.

“SOS,” Mary Margaret whispered, looking frantic. “We are in crisis mode.”

“What’s the matter?” 

David walked up behind Mary Margaret, putting his hand on her shoulder and trying to get her to relax. It didn’t work. “We now have plans for tonight,” he all but spit out.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“A joint bachelor and bachelorette party,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Our presence has been demanded.”

Emma groaned and rolled her eyes. “Of course it has.”

“We could all fake sick.”

“That’ll never work and you know it,” Emma objected. “It never worked in high school either.”

“Could be worth a shot,” David added. 

“I think we’re just going to have to bite the bullet on this one, guys,” Emma said. Mary Margaret and David both sighed. “I just don’t see another way out of it,” she added. 

“What exactly are you trying to get out of?” Killian asked. 

“Being forced to participate in Regina and Robin’s party,” Emma explained. “I bet you and David could figure out a way not to go, but M’s and are going to have to. Regina will pitch a fit if two of her bridesmaids don’t show for this. We should have come tomorrow, M’s.”

“I didn’t think the party would be tonight.”

“Why a joint party?” Killian asked. “Aren’t these things usually separate?”

“There’s only one bar in Storybrooke,” Emma said. 

“Of course.”

“There’s no out here, M’s, we’re gonna have to go.”

“I know,” Mary Margaret whined. “I just don’t want to.”

“We’ll all go,” David added. “We don’t have to talk to Regina. We say hi to Robin and then we get drunk on shitty Rabbit Hole tequila. It’ll be like we’re in school again. You game Killian?”

“Of course,” he repeated. “I’m rather interested to see Swan’s debaucherous beginnings.”

“There are those SAT words again.”

“Feel free to tell me how impressed you are, Swan.”

“And coax that ego? Absolutely not.”

“Ok,” Mary Margaret interrupted. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

“It won’t be,” Emma agreed. “Listen, I did promise Ingrid I’d eat dinner with her though, so we’ll meet you there later?”  Mary Margaret nodded and slipped her hand into David’s as she walked away. 

“I’m not sure how many times I can apologize for this mess,” Emma muttered as she led Killian back towards her family. 

“And I’m not sure how many times I can tell you it’s not a mess.”

“Honestly, who are you?” Emma asked skeptically. “I don’t get it.”

“Your friend, Swan,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve covered this.”

“I’m still having a hard time believing it.”

“Not everyone is here for nefarious purposes.”

Emma scoffed – he was pulling out all the vocabulary. “No?”

“You think Mary Margaret and David are?” Emma shook her head. “What about Ingrid and your sister?” She shook her head again. “Then what makes me different?”

Emma bit back her immediate retort that he was  _ different _ because no one had ever looked at her the way he did or managed to change all her preconceived notions about, well,  _ everything _ as easily as Killian Jones seemed to in the last few months. 

Those kinds of thoughts would just end up getting her in trouble.

So instead she shrugged her shoulders. 

“I don’t intend to let you down, Swan,” he repeated. 

“I know that.”

“Just remember it.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond before they had made it back to Ingrid and Elsa, standing guard over their suitcases.  “You hear the news?” Emma asked, as they both nodded. 

“You’re going to have to go, Emma,” Ingrid said. 

“I know, but not for awhile. We’ve got a good chunk of time before we have to meet David and M’s. You want to come later El?”

“Only if you’re buying.”

“Aren’t you the one with the fancy job?”

“You owe me a graduation present.”

“She brings up a fair point, Swan,” Killian mumbled. Emma ignored the wide-eyed response of her family at the nickname. “Tell you what, Elsa, I’ll buy your first drink and then we can make Swan shell out some cash too.”

Elsa smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like it. Deal.”

“Come on,” Ingrid said. “Let’s get your stuff home. I hope you don’t mind an air mattress on Emma’s floor, Killian. If  _ someone _ would use their phone every now and then, I could have made sure there was something better.”

“An air mattress is absolutely fine.”

“Good,” Ingrid smiled at him and Emma got the distinct impression that her family was being charmed by Killian Jones. “We’ll drop it off and you two can relax for a little while before dinner.”

“Granny’s?” Emma asked hopefully. Ingrid looked at her as if she had lost her mind. 

“Obviously,” she said. 

“Obviously,” Killian repeated, muttering the word in Emma’s ear. She rolled her eyes and elbowed him slightly. 

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Emma did her best to keep up a running commentary on the sights of downtown Storybrooke while Ingrid drove them back to the house. To be fair, there wasn’t really much to point out.

“That’s the clock tower,” Emma said, earning a look from Killian that screamed  _ obviously _ . “It gets struck by lightning at least once a year and they fundraise to get the clock running again.”

“Every year?”

“Every. Year.  There is a library underneath it though, so the building itself is at least important.”

“You’re leaving out the most important clock tower tidbit,” Elsa said from her spot in the front seat. 

“Yeah, what is that?” Emma asked mutinously – she knew where this was going. Killian looked more than just a little interested. 

Elsa leaned around the seat and stared at them pointedly, drawing out the suspense just a bit. Emma rolled her eyes. “She got arrested there,” Elsa whispered. 

“What?” Killian was hysterical. He leaned back on the headrest, the sound of his laughter filling the car. 

“She’s making it sound way worse than it actually was,” Emma groaned. 

“That’s not true at all,” Ingrid argued. “I remember it being fairly awful.”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

“You’ve got to provide a few more details, Swan.”

“Ugh, fine,” she said. “I was sixteen – Elsa had showed up like, I don’t even know, a month before? And I was slightly to moderately threatened by her.”

“She thought I was going to steal all her thunder,” Elsa chimed in. 

“Yes, exactly that,” Emma said. “Anyway, I was sixteen and there had been a party – at Robin’s, I might add – and there was some alcohol involved and David and M’s and I thought it’d be a good idea to climb the clock tower. We got caught, Graham’s dad showed up and he put us in the two cells at the Storybrooke sheriff's office for a few hours to teach us a lesson or something.”

“And give me a heart attack,” Ingrid added. 

Killian was still laughing. “I didn’t get arrested,” Emma sighed. “Not really at least.”

“Elsa was right, you were leaving out the most important clock tower tidbit.”

“I’m giving you one hour to find this hysterical and then we’re not talking about it again. You better not mention this to M’s. I think she’s still traumatized by the whole experience.” 

“Cross my heart,” he said, winking at her slightly. Emma stared out the window, hoping to forget the butterflies in her stomach. 

It only took a few more minutes – Storybrooke wasn’t that big – to get to Ingrid’s house and Emma smiled as they pulled into the driveway. It wasn’t an enormous house, but Emma smiled at the sight, something resembling contentment settling in the pit of her stomach. 

“Home?” Killian asked, smiling at her. 

“Home.”

Ingrid parked the car and handed the keys over to Elsa, who jumped out to open the front door. Emma heard the trunk pop open behind her and Killian climbed out of the car, walking around to the back and pulling the suitcases out. She rolled her eyes –  _ gentleman _ . 

“Killian, if you just want to put those inside, I can bring them up later when you all are out.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Thanks…” His voice trailed off and Emma suddenly realized he wasn’t sure what to call her. That was a lot more endearing than she was anticipating. 

“You can just call me Ingrid.”

“Thanks, Ingrid,” he nodded, walking into the house and precariously balancing the suitcases in his hands. 

Emma went to follow, but Ingrid held her back, yanking on her shirt sleeve. “You’re gonna rip it,” Emma mumbled. 

“I’m not and even if I did, I’d fix it,” Ingrid argued. “I want to talk to you.”  Emma had been dreading this. She was certain she could avoid it if she wished hard enough – not quite.  “How come you didn’t tell me?”

“To be fair, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s _not_ fair.”

“I don’t know,” Emma groaned. “I think I hurt his feelings too. He asked me the same question.”

“What did you tell Killian?”

“That I didn’t want to jinx it. If I told everyone and he didn’t show.”

“You think he’d do that?” Emma shook her head. “Me either,” Ingrid agreed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the way he looks at you, Emma, but I’m fairly certain Killian would do whatever you asked.”

“Yeah, that might be true.”

“You going to tell me what’s actually going on now?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’ve known you for a long time, Emma,” Ingrid said slowly. “You held his hand the entire time you were on that platform. You nearly collapsed on top of him when Cora walked away. This is different.”

“He’s my friend,” Emma said quickly.

“What do you want him to be?”

“My friend.”

“Yuh huh.”

“I’m serious!”

“I’m sure you are, sweetheart,” Ingrid agreed, reaching out to tug on Emma’s sleeve again. “But you should know that you don’t look at him like any friend I’ve ever had.”

Emma’s heart thudded. She knew Ingrid was right. She also wasn’t about to admit any of that out loud. “He’s my boss,” she said and it barely sounded like an excuse.

“I’m almost certain he doesn’t care.”

She opened her mouth to object, but was interrupted when Elsa leaned around the front door yelling at them. “Were you guys ever going to come inside?”

“Of course,” Ingrid said back. “We’re on our way in now.”

Emma nodded towards Elsa and led the way back into the house, toeing off her shoes once she’d crossed the threshold. Killian was leaning on the back of the couch, phone in one hand and a small scowl on his face. 

“You ok?” Emma asked, stopping in front of him. 

He looked up at her immediately and it took less than one full breath for his entire face to change. He smiled at her. “Sure, Swan,” he assured her. “Just e-mails.”

“The most popular guy in town.”

“Somehow I think that may be this Robin guy.”

“That’s probably true,” Emma admitted. “Come on, you want see your top-notch air mattress?” Killian nodded, leaning over to grab the suitcases again. “Ingrid really would have gotten those,” she said. 

“Gentleman.”

“Of course.”

Emma led him down the hallway and up the stairs towards her second-floor bedroom. The door was closed – teenage Emma had always demanded the door stay closed  – and she heard Killian laugh softly behind her when he turned the corner. She shrugged.  The door – as much as it could be considered a door – was covered in photos and newspaper clippings crudely taped in a variety of angles with decades-old scotch tape. In the middle of it all was a slightly ripped “Star Wars” poster. 

“Princess Leia was my hero when I was a kid,” Emma explained, opening the door. Killian actually gasped when he walked into the room. 

She had to admit – it was a bit overwhelming. There were pictures everywhere, posters and magazine pages and old 3X5 glossy photos that showcased Emma, Mary Margaret and David throughout the last decade and a half. 

Killian whistled softly. “Wow,” he muttered. 

“It’s a lot I know.”

“How did this happen?”

“Ingrid was always really good about letting us do whatever we wanted in our rooms. At least when it came to what went on the walls. Elsa and I both picked our own decorations. El’s is a bit more refined than mine is though.”

“See, I said it from the start, Swan,” he said, turning slightly and examining a few of the smaller pictures on the wall. “You are fascinating.”

“Just a kid who wanted to be anywhere, but where she was.”

“It doesn’t seem that bad.”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t. And once I realized Ingrid wasn’t going to send me back, I really did like being here. But this was the first time anything was ever  _ mine _ and, well, I made sure everyone knew it was.”

“Hence the decoration explosion.”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled again, leaning forward to look at a picture of Emma and Mary Margaret. They were 15, on their way to Homecoming. David was somewhere off to the side – far too cool at that age to have his photo taken. 

“I like the dress, Swan,” he said, nodding towards the photo. Emma groaned. It had not been her finest fashion moment. 

“15-year-olds can’t be counted on to pick their own semi-formal dance looks,” she muttered. “I’m sure you have horror stories too.”

“I don’t know about that,” he argued. “I wasn’t exactly going to a lot of high school dances.”

“What?” 

That surprised her. She was fairly certain Killian would have been prom king – the baseball star, good looking guy who, undoubtedly, had crushed a few hearts as a teenager. 

“I didn’t really have time,” he shrugged. 

“You didn’t play baseball that much.”

“No, I worked.”

“What?” She was repeating herself now, but Emma was also determined to get some more information out of him. 

“I worked a lot during high school when I wasn’t playing,” Killian said, still facing the wall. “You know to help out?”

“Help out?”

“Yeah, to help Liam.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged and he turned around slowly to face Emma. “Liam was older than me – eight years. So when my mom died, he fought for custody and, somehow, he won. I still don’t know how we managed to make it work, but we did, and the state let me stay. But the only way we could afford it all was if I worked too. I mean, it was never a lot. He wouldn’t have let me, anyway, but I wanted to help.”

“How old were you?”

“When?”

“When your mom died,” she whispered. Emma felt her heart break and wondered what was worse, never having a family at all or losing the one he had from the start. She wouldn’t know what to do if she lost Ingrid or Elsa. 

“I was twelve.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head. “It was a long time ago. And, well, Liam was incredible. He handled everything. He didn’t think twice about leaving school and getting a job and making sure I stayed with him. I was still too young then to know, but he fought for me. That’s why he was always so serious about baseball and getting into school. He wanted me to make something of myself.”

“You did,” Emma said, taking a step towards him and brushing her fingers over his. “You know that right? I’m sure Liam does.”

For the second time, Emma saw the walls go back up as soon as she said Liam’s name. He didn’t say anything and Emma felt his shoulder stiffen underneath her hand. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked. 

“Nothing, Swan,” he answered quickly. That was a lie. 

“I said I wouldn’t push, and I won’t,” Emma continued. “But I don’t like being lied to either.”

He took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. “I know love,” he said softly. “I don’t want to lie, but I just...I can’t. Not yet.”

“Ok.” She stepped back and saw Killian sigh, dragging his foot against the carpeted floor. “We should probably get back down there. I’m sure they want to eat soon.”

“Lead the way, Swan.”

For all the tension earlier, dinner was relatively simple. 

Granny’s was nothing short of packed – Mary Margaret and David sitting with their respective families on the other side of the diner – and the woman was in her element feeding the entire town. 

Emma smiled up at her when she put the plate down in front of her – grilled cheese and onion rings – muttering  _ thanks _ up towards Granny. 

“You know this is the first time in  _ years _ I’ve seen you in this booth, Emma,” she said, hands on hips and a very serious look on her face.

“That’s not true at all and you know it.”

“I said  _ this _ booth,” Granny specified. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but this is the same one you and Mary Margaret spent a good chunk of time doing homework in.”

“Is that true, Swan?” Killian asked, glancing at her with amusement in his eyes. 

“I honestly have no idea, but if Granny says it, it must be true.”

“It is,” Granny added, leaning across the table to put Killian’s food in front of him. 

“I believe you,” Killian said. 

“It’s nice to have someone new here as well,” she added, staring pointedly at Killian. “You’re the first boy Emma has brought home in quite some time.”

“Is that so?”

“Not since she was in school,” Granny nodded. 

“Neal,” Killian supplied. 

“You know Neal?” Elsa asked, surprised. 

“Not really,” he objected. Emma neglected to mention that he had also punched him in the face. That was far too much drama for one diner booth. 

“It  _ is _ super nice to see someone new,” added another voice that Emma recognized immediately. 

“Hey, Ruby,” she said to the woman now standing next to the table as well. 

The only actual family member of Granny’s in Storybrooke, Ruby Lucas graduated the same year as Emma and Mary Margaret. They’d never been particularly close, but Emma knew that she was fiercely protective of two things – her grandmother and the bright red highlights in her hair. 

“Hey Emma, Ingrid, Elsa,” Ruby said. “And…”

“Killian Jones,” he supplied. “Nice to meet you...”

“Ruby Lucas. Resident waitress. I went to high school with Emma.”

“Do you know about the clock tower incident?”

Emma elbowed him in the ribs – harder than might have actually been necessary – and shot him a glare. “You promised not to talk about that.”

“I promised not to talk about it to Mary Margaret.”

“Semantics.”

“I do know about the clock tower incident,” Ruby added. “Did Emma mention it made the front page of  _ The Mirror _ ?” 

Emma groaned. “She absolutely did not,” Killian laughed. “You think there’s still copies of that anywhere?”

“I have one.”

“No you don’t!” Emma yelled. 

“I do,” Ruby objected. Ingrid and Elsa had more or less fallen off their seats laughing. Emma could feel her cheeks flush. “And I’m totally going to find it and bring it to the rehearsal dinner and show your boyfriend.”

If it had been possible for her cheeks to get any more red, Emma was certain they would have. Killian didn’t say anything, just put his hand on her shoulder and laughed as well. 

“I look forward to that,” he said. 

“Me too,” Ruby agreed. “I’ll see you guys at the Rabbit Hole later?” Emma nodded and Ruby – mercifully – left them alone to eat. 

“You know Killian,” Ingrid said. “If Ruby forgets her copy of that  _ Mirror _ I have one at home that you can see too.”

Emma felt Killian’s entire body shake with laughter and she shook her own head, staring at her onion rings. “Thanks for the support, Ingrid,” she muttered. 

“I’m always supportive, sweetheart. That’s why Killian should see your darkest moments, get that out of the way first.”

Killian was still laughing as he pulled Emma closer to his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now, I'm trying very hard to stick to some sort of Tuesday and Friday posting schedule. I almost always have games to cover then so I'm almost always in front of my computer - but we'll see if I can keep up with that. We're still kind of just hitting our story stride here because I have no concept of length or word count. As always thank you for every click, comment and kudos. Feel free to come flail with me on Tumblr too: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	25. Chapter 25

The Rabbit Hole was exactly like Emma remembered. She doubted anything had even changed since she was 20 years old and sneaking drinks when she was home for the summer.

“And you questioned the grime when I brought you to Josie’s,” Killian muttered behind her.

“This is a very distinct kind of grime.”

“Seems like a double standard, Swan.” He pushed her forward slightly and Emma couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his hand.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret yelled, all but running towards the door. “You are very late.”

“We’re two minutes late, M’s.”

“Very. Late.”

“Everything ok, Mary Margaret?” Killian asked. Emma could still feel every inch of his body behind her.

“Regina has been asking about you.”

“We’re here,” Emma sighed.

“No,” Mary Margaret argued. “About Killian.”

“Me?” he asked and Emma spun around on the spot to find him wide-eyed and standing up just a bit straighter. Regina seemed to have that sort of impact on people. 

Mary Margaret nodded. “She’s very curious where you came from.”  
  
“Well I took a train here, but if she’s interested in my entire family history, I’d like to actually meet the woman first.”

“Killian,” Emma admonished, unable to keep the smile entirely off her face. Mary Margaret just looked stressed out.

“I’m assuming we don’t have to wait very long,” Killian said, looking over Mary Margaret’s shoulder. Emma followed his gaze – he was right, Regina was on her way over to them. “You’re in luck, Swan, now you can hear my entire family history as well.”

Emma rolled her eyes and sighed, doing her best to look supportive for Mary Margaret.

“Emma,” Regina said simply.

“Hey Regina,” Emma responded. She felt Killian move behind her, hand still on the small of her back – battle stance.

“Regina,” Mary Margaret started. “This is Killian Jones, he’s here with Emma this weekend.”

“With her?” Regina repeated.

“Yeah,” Killian answered simply, reaching his arm around Emma and holding his hand out for Regina to take. He was doing a lot of hand shaking. “I am.”

“It would have been nice to get a bit more warning that you were going to be here.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Killian said. “But it wasn’t Swan’s fault at all. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get the time off, so we didn’t want to RSVP until we were certain.”

Emma gaped at him. It was a very good lie. It even made sense. It also wasn’t true at all. He winked at her.

“And you work where exactly?” Regina asked, pushing forward with the interrogation.

“ _The Record_.”

“With Emma?

“Same department actually.”

“And how long have you two been together?”

“Regina,” Emma interrupted, but Killian tightened his fingers on her back, gripping the fabric of her shirt.

“We’ve been spending time together for awhile.”

Regina eyed Emma and Killian speculatively and Emma did her best to stand her ground. “Well,” she said slowly. “It’s nice to meet you Killian. I’m sorry you won’t have much of a food choice, you’re just going to have to get whatever Arthur had ordered.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Good.”

And with that – as soon as she had shown up – Regina was gone. Emma heard Mary Margaret sigh and looked over to see her friend grip her hair tightly.

“See you later your majesty,” Emma muttered angrily. “You gonna make it, M’s?”  
  
“She’s going to drive me insane. All I’ve heard are complaints about flower arrangements and Killian throwing off seating arrangements and Robin’s tux and I don’t know if i can do this all weekend.”

Emma smiled sadly, putting her arm around Mary Margaret. “It’s going to be ok, M’s. Where’s David? You need a drink.”

“Talking to Graham.”

“Graham is here?” Emma asked. Glancing around the bar anxiously.

“I think everyone in Storybrooke over the age of 21 is here.”

“You think he’s going to want to talk?”  
  
“One hundred percent,” Mary Margaret replied. “He already asked David when you were going to get here.”

Emma groaned. “Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Who exactly is this Graham guy, Swan?” Killian asked, following behind as Mary Margaret led them further into the bar.

“You remember the clock tower incident? Graham’s dad was the sheriff who found us. He’s since taken over as the lone law enforcement in Storybrooke and...we dated.”

“That so?”

He kept his voice light and Emma was certain anyone else would have assumed he was only passably interested. She’d spent enough time with Killian to know better though. She could hear the tension there and glanced nervously in his direction. “We went to prom together.”

“Huh.”

“Killian…” she said slowly, trying to settle the situation before it actually became a _situation_.

“It’s fine, Swan,” he answered. “Let’s go meet the prom date.”

Graham Humbert had always been absurdly attractive.

Everyone in Storybrooke thought so. Well, except Mary Margaret. But Mary Margaret had never been entirely aware that there were other guys in the world beside David.

And Emma hadn’t been entirely truthful. She and Graham hadn’t dated so much as they _hung out_. They went to prom together. They made out from time to time. It had been fun. But it wasn’t anything beside that.

“Hey babe,” David said as Mary Margaret walked up to them. “Emma, Killian,” he nodded in their direction and they both smiled back.

“Hey Emma,” Graham said. He was still absurdly attractive.

“Hey,” she answered, waving slightly and cringing internally at the movement. Killian laughed quietly at her and Emma knew he was alright again.

“So, new gig, huh? Big important reporter covering NBA championship series?”

“I don’t know about big and important, but yes to the NBA.”

“I think Ingrid tried to stage some sort of parade to celebrate. She’s been showing me your stories.”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “I hope you told her to stop.”

“No, Emma, it’s nice. She’s just proud of you.” Graham smiled at her, but his gaze landed on Killian’s hand – still on her on back – and he stopped talking for a moment. Emma seized the silence.

“Oh, sorry! Graham, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is Graham, he’s the sheriff here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Killian said, nodding in Graham’s direction, hand not moving an inch.

“Back at you. Can I get you a drink?’

“That’s alright, I actually promised Elsa I’d buy the first round for us,” Killian said, tilting her head towards Emma’s sister who was sitting at the bar, talking to some of her own friends. “I better not keep your sister waiting, Swan. What do you want, love?”

Emma stared at him, taking aback by the _love_ with other people around. She wasn’t sure that had ever happened.

“Rum,” she said quickly.

He quirked an eyebrow up at her and smirked. “Rum?”

“Rum,” she repeated.

“Deal,” he said, turning away and walking towards the bar.

“So…” Graham started, smiling at Emma.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t ever drink rum.”

“I haven’t been home in awhile Humbert. Maybe I do now.”

“Huh.”

It only took Killian a few moments to return – handing Emma her drink. “No, El?” she asked.

“I offered,” he said. “But apparently she _didn’t want to intrude._ ”

“I knew she’d say that.”

“She wants you to have fun.”

“I am having fun. I plan on having more fun later.”

Another eyebrow quirk. “That so?” Emma nodded. “Well, color me intrigued.”

“Drink up, cap,” she said, tapping one finger on his glass.

“Swan,” he said, all but growling at her.

“Hmm?”

“We agreed not to do that.”

“You agreed. I said no such thing.”

He looked at her for a beat, like he was trying to determine what exactly she was thinking. He frowned when he couldn’t figure it out. “You are playing with fire, here love.”

Emma shrugged. She was. She knew she was. But then she saw Killian look at her – concern mixing with worry and something that might have been want in his eyes – and she couldn't bring herself to care. So, maybe she would get burned later. She wanted to have some fun now.

“I’m fairly certain I don’t care.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her again and Emma took a – long – drink, trying to prove herself. Or something.

“You doing alright, Emma?” Graham asked.

“Fine,” she responded. She wished people would stop asking her that. “I’m totally fine.”

Emma felt Killian’s hand on her back again – his fingers teasing the bottom of her shirt – and, for the first time, she leaned into the contact on purpose. She felt his breath pick up slightly and smiled.

“So, Graham?” she continued. “Who’s the last person you arrested?”

Watch out Storybrooke, Emma Swan was going to have some fun tonight.

* * *

She was drunk.

More to the point, they were all drunk. And telling stories. Or, once again, more to the point, everyone else was telling stories – about Emma. And Killian couldn’t stop laughing.

“Is that true, Swan?” he asked at one point, leaning towards her slowly as if every one of his moves were exaggerated to make sure she could keep up.

Emma made a face. Ruby was on a rampage – hailing the entire bar with teenage-Emma’s exploits and general frustration with the world.

“I suppose it is,” Emma mumbled.

They had hit all the highlights – the clock tower incident, which made Mary Margaret blush furiously, asking Graham to prom herself because he too nervous to ask because of the aforementioned clock tower incident and even breaking into Ingrid’s store one night with David so they could bring Mary Margaret ice cream after she had to get her tonsils out the summer before senior year.

“M’s deserved  some ice cream though,” she continued. “Her whole summer got fucked up because of that surgery. And anyway, it was David’s idea really.”

“Nope, Emma,” David argued. “I’m not taking credit for this at all. I came along because I didn’t want you to go by yourself, but that was one hundred percent your idea. You showed up at my house, key in hand and said that was what we were doing.”

“What did Ingrid do when she found you?” Killian asked.

“Nothing of course,” David said.

“Really?”

“Really,” Emma nodded. “She asked why we hadn’t just told her – she would have put it in the to-go pints for us, save us a little bit of work.”

“If I remember correctly, that’s what she ended up doing anyway,” Mary Margaret said.

“That’s exactly what happened.”

Killian was only a few inches away from her – Emma was certain he was getting progressively closer – so it didn’t take much for her to notice his eyes when he looked at it. It wasn’t the alcohol. She was – almost – certain. He really was looking at her like she was the most important person in the world.

It wasn’t the alcohol, but she believed him.

“Who knew you were such a rebel, Swan,” he whispered and he was practically shoulder to shoulder with her now.

“I don’t know about that.”

“It was pretty rebellious for Storybrooke,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma narrowed her eyes at her. “Traitor.” Mary Margaret just shrugged.

She reached forward for her now empty glass – she wasn’t entirely sure how many times it had been empty, it seemed to just keep refilling itself. _Killian_ , she thought and turned quickly to look at him, nearly falling off the stool in the process.

“Something wrong, love?” he asked softly and Emma nearly groaned with frustration.

He was too good looking. Too good looking and too close and too ready to buy her drinks. Her head was spinning.

“Swan,” he continued, drawing out the word and wrapping his hand around her forearm. “Let me get you some water. I bet you could use it.”

He stood up and made to turn back towards the bar, but Emma pulled on the back of his t-shirt – not of the Louisville baseball variety – to stop him. He skidded slightly, but didn’t pull away, glancing over his shoulder to stare at her wide-eyed.  “What?” he asked.

“You want to get some air?”

Those previously wide eyes narrowed quickly. “What?” he repeated.

“Some air? Or something. I don’t know. It’s just hot in here.”

He stared at her for another moment, before breaking out the kind of smile that would be able to convince 28-year-old Emma – drunk or otherwise – to break into Ingrid’s store again. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, stepping back and pulling her closer to him.

“Emma?” David asked as she walked by him, a worried-looking Mary Margaret just a step behind.

“We’re gonna go get some air. We’ll be back.”

David looked unconvinced, but Mary Margaret smiled and Emma was walking again before she knew it – Killian’s arm tightly around her waist.

It was cool for mid-August, but it always seemed as if Storybrooke existed in its own personal weather bubble. Something to do with the ocean and tides. Emma leaned into Killian’s arm again and he made a noise under his breath – something that sounded like a mixture of surprise and happiness.

It made her shiver.

“Cold, Swan?” he asked, laughing softly. “It’s the middle of August.”

“I’m always cold.”

He turned and looked at her, dropping his arm away from her waist to face her straight on. “No,” he countered. “That’s not true.”

“No?”

“No,” he shook his head.

Emma’s breath rushed out of her and it sounded like a sigh, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She was bordering dangerously close to sentiment.

“In fact,” Killian continued, trailing his fingers up her side. “In my experience, you are quite the opposite. Anything but cold.”

“You don’t know me that well then. There are plenty of people who’d tell you otherwise.”

“I’m willing to debate them for several hours. But if we’re going to fall back on the _you don’t know me_ argument, then I am a bit disappointed. I thought we’d gotten off that train months ago.”

They had been walking this entire time and – somehow – found their way to the docks down the street from The Rabbit Hole. The wind blew again and it made Emma shiver, instinctively moving closer to Killian.

“What is it that you think you know, exactly?” she asked.

She hoped her face didn’t give away how much weight she was putting in the question. She hoped he couldn’t tell – just by the tone of her voice – how much this answer meant to her, how worried she was that he _did_ know her and how scared she was that he would realize it wasn’t worth his time and walk away.

As soon as she met his eyes she knew – he realized all of it.

“I know a lot.”

“Prove it.”

He nodded once and took a deep breath, staring at her intently. “You care.”

Emma waited for more, for some long list of her defining characteristics, mentions of cinnamon on hot chocolate and a tendency to wear red and quote _The Princess Bride_. He never said any of it. He simply kept staring at her, eyes as blue as ever, with a small, but almost defiant smile on his face.

“What?”

“You care,” he repeated.

“About?”

“Everything. Everyone. Take your pick.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got this whole speal Swan, about walls and keeping your distance and making sure you don’t jinx anything and the reason you do that is because you care – a lot more than you’d ever actually admit.”

“And that proves that you know me?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“What exactly do you think I care about?”

“I thought saying _everything_ and _everyone_ kind of covered all the bases, but I can be more specific if you want. Mary Margaret and David to start. You are fiercely protective of both of them and you don’t even realize it, Mary Margaret especially. You were willing to come here alone and face Regina’s potential no-date rage, just to make sure it took some of the pressure off Mary Margaret. You back off when she’s around her family because you’re under some impression that you’re not good enough for them. It’s ridiculous, but you’re doing it because you care so damn much.”

Emma didn’t say anything – she couldn’t. Killian rolled back on his heels, tilting his head as he looked at her before he kept going.

“Then, of course, there’s Ingrid and Elsa. You were practically bursting at the seams with pride when Elsa got that job and I’m sure she could hear you all the way in Michigan when she graduated, you were cheering so loudly.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” Emma said quietly.

That gave him pause. He looked at her from underneath his eyelashes and grinned at her. “Ah, well, you couldn’t watch by yourself could you?”

“Very easily,” she countered. “It was nice to have company though.”

“You care about Henry too. A lot.”

“I don’t want him to miss out on anything.”

“He’s not going to – because of you.”

“You don’t know that yet. I haven’t even written anything.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be confident now. You’re gonna change that kid’s life, Swan.”

Emma bit her lip and took a step back, trying to get her breathing back to normal. “I just...I want him to have a fair chance. He wants to play so bad and he deserves to. And, well…” she trailed off, staring at the waves in front of her. Or rather, staring anywhere that wasn’t Killian.

“And well you want to make sure he got the same support you did, right?”

She snapped her heads towards him, eyes wide and breathing completely off track again. “How could you know that?” she asked, sharply.

“I told you love, I know you care.”

Emma swallowed slowly, the sound of it echoing in her ears. Or maybe that was the ocean. She was a little overwhelmed. “About more than all of that,” she whispered.

This time it was Killian’s chance to look stunned and Emma relished the moment for beat before pushing forward, determined not to lose her courage. “You too,” she said and her voice sounded breathless even to her. “I care about you too.”

“Swan…” he started, taking a step towards her, but she held her hand up, placing it lightly on his chest to keep him where he was. He stopped immediately.

“Why don’t you talk about Liam?”

She hadn’t been able to shake the question all night, wondering why his walls went back up anytime _she_ mentioned his brother’s name. He jerked back, pulling his body away from her hand and shot her look that warned her to _stop_. She didn’t – later on Emma would blame the alcohol and how his hair fluttered in the breeze and the ocean, but really she just wanted answers.

She wanted to know Killian as well as he already knew her.

“I talk about Liam,” he argued.

“Not really. You mentioned him that first day and then nothing for months and whenever I ask anything about him, you shut down. Why?”

“It’s not really any of your business.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Come on Killian, what could be so bad?”

“He’s dead,” he said simply, taking another step away from her and sinking down to sit on the edge of the dock.

She hadn’t expected that.

“What?” she whispered, sitting down next to him and pulling off her sandals so they wouldn’t fall in the water.

“He’s dead.”

“Killian, I…” She didn’t know what to say. What could she possibly say? She had pushed – again – and come up decidedly on the wrong side of things. Killian looked as if he was carved  of stone, his shoulders tense and his hands flat on the dock on either side of him. Emma took a deep breath and reached out to touch his left hand, running one finger over the scars along his wrist.

“You didn’t know, Swan.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No,” he said slowly, “you shouldn’t have. But you’re right. I want you to know. Someone else should know.”

Emma waited for him to continue, keeping up the pattern on his hand and feeling him relax underneath her.

“Well, I told you how he took care of me when I was a kid, but he never really stopped,” Killian said and Emma knew each word was like a punch to the gut. “He was...everything. He gave up school so we could stay in New York and we stayed in the same apartment so I wouldn’t have to move. He got a job with the city – that’s the reason I have people at the pier, he worked there for awhile before I went to school.

God, he worked his ass off so I could go to school. But he did his best to get to my games and if he didn’t, he’d study box scores and help me work on my swing. He’s the reason I got a scholarship. The only reason.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Emma interrupted, earning a pair of raised eyebrows from Killian. “You throw out SAT words like it’s your job, Killian. You’re smart. You could have gotten into school without baseball.”

He shrugged and tugged on the piece of hair behind his ear. “Eh, maybe. But it was always about baseball. When I they offered me at Louisville, I came home and he brought me down to Battery Park and threw with me like I was 12 again. He said it was probably the last time we’d get a chance to do it. It was, actually.”

“But he saw you get drafted, right?” Emma asked. “He saw you make it.”

“He did,” Killian nodded. “But he also saw me fuck it all up. I wasn’t lying before, Swan. He told me not to go. I was in the middle-of-nowhere Georgia and I was bored out of my mind. It was the middle of the season and we’d played 20 straight and I just wanted to feel like I didn’t have to prove something or be something and so I ignored him. He told me not to waste my time going out and I ignored him.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Emma felt like she was a broken record. It was true though – he couldn’t have known, couldn’t have been certain that getting into one car and going out on one night would change the rest of his life.

“He told me that later. Once I woke up and they told me what had happened. They told me it was some kind of _miracle_ that I had even survived. That the impact of the crash should have thrown me through the windshield and they barely managed to save my hand. They told me I shouldn’t be worried about baseball when I should just be happy to be alive.”

“That’s not fair. Baseball _was_ your life.” Emma wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed as tightly as she could, trying to work every single one of her emotions into a single movement.

“It was,” Killian said. “But it’s alright now. I haven’t wallowed in quite some time, Swan.” He turned to look at her, smirking slightly as he did. “So, I got hurt,” he continued. “And everyone left. The team and the fans and the accolades. Everyone except Liam. He stayed in Georgia with me for weeks – got special leave and everything – and helped me figure out what to do with my life now that baseball wasn’t an option.”

“Leave?”

“Oh, did I leave that part out?” he asked. Emma shrugged. “Liam went into the Navy after I graduated high school.” She could hear the pride in his voice with every single word and Emma smiled at him, inching closer so that their shoulders brushed. “He was an officer.”

“He stayed in Georgia for weeks and we decided I’d go back to school. I’d lost my scholarship because I’d lost my eligibility, obviously, but he didn’t miss a beat. He paid for everything. I tried to argue with him, but he said this was what he’d been working for in the first place. He just didn’t see it play out.”

Emma sucked in her breath, knowing what was next. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she said.

Killian just shook his head. “He died a month before I graduated. Some stupid accident on some stupid fucking boat where he was trying to be the hero. There was a storm and some asshole went out on his own, disobeyed orders and Liam couldn’t leave him there. So he saved him and then died.”

He spit out the last few words as if he were watching it all happen in front of him. Emma felt his grip tighten on her hand slightly and she glanced down at it, trying to make sure he knew she was there.

“He didn’t have to do it,” Killian said softly. “He shouldn’t have. But that was Liam. He was the hero.”

“You know he would have been proud of you, right? You haven’t let anyone down, Killian, least of all Liam.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“The same way you knew that I cared. I know _you_.” She stuck one finger into his chest for evidence and stared at him intently. He looked right back at her, gaze flickering between her eyes, finger and lips. He finally settled on lips and Emma’s breath caught in her throat.

“Emma…” he said slowly and her eyes widened – he hadn’t called her Emma in months. In fact, she thought quickly, scanning back through conversations, she was certain he had only called her Emma once.

He reached out and grabbed her hand – finger still pointing into his chest – wrapping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her closer to him until she was all but on top of him. She pulled her legs up over his, body pulled tightly against his and he stared at her for a moment, eyes as dark as the ocean next to them, before ducking his head and kissing her.

Emma breathed him in, feeling the way his lips moved against hers and his hands pulled on the back of her shirt. She pulled herself up straighter, trying to make sure she pushed up against every inch of him, and ran her hand along the back of his neck, brushing through his hair.

This was different than the last time.

This wasn’t just a desperate need to work out some sort of frustration of being attracted to your co-worker – your _boss_ , her mind helpfully supplied – this was as if she was kissing him for the first time, walls down, defense discarded.

Just Killian and Emma – for the first time in a long time, showing their metaphorical cards and realizing, maybe, they weren’t all bad.

He had pulled her onto his legs without Emma even realizing she was moving and her arms were looped securely around his neck. She knew where this was heading and she knew it wasn’t something she should even be considering. She was. A lot.

And unless Emma was very much mistaken, so was Killian.

At least she was until he stopped kissing her.

“Swan,” he mumbled.

“That was…”  
  
“If you say _one time thing_ I may jump in the ocean.”

“Charmer.”

“Come on love,” he said softly, moving her back to his side and standing up. He fixed his shirt and ran his hand through his hair, trying to push it down in the back again. “Let me take you home.”

Emma nodded slowly, wondering several things all at once – how many worried text messages she already had from M’s when she didn’t come back to the Rabbit Hole, how easy it had been to just be _her_ over the last few days, and, most pressingly, how she was ever going to fall asleep when Killian Jones was on an air mattress on her floor and all she wanted to do was pull him up into her bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no concept of word count. Ever. In anything I have ever written. This is absolutely no different. This is huge and this story is huge and we're like just reaching the halfway point if my math is right. So that's why we're still kind of stuck in this slow-born world. It'll get going and there'll be more plot and more kissing, just stick me guys. Thank as usual for every click, comment and kudos. Y'all are fantastic.


	26. Chapter 26

It didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

Whether it was the combination of rum or emotional revelations or the consistent pattern of Killian’s breathing on the air mattress next to her, it hadn’t taken Emma long to shut her eyes and sleep straight through the night.

She blinked blearily, taking a moment to remember where she was – and where Killian was – swinging her legs over the side of the bed carefully to make sure she didn’t step on him. There wasn’t really that much extra floor space.

Only, he wasn’t there.

Emma glanced around quickly and then laughed at herself – sounding a bit crazy – as she realized he likely wasn’t hiding in some corner somewhere. She opened her door and walked down the stairs, turning towards the kitchen to find Ingrid and Elsa in conversation, steaming cups of coffee in their respective hands.

“Morning sweetheart,” Ingrid said warmly, smiling at Emma over her cup with a knowing look.

“Where’s Killian?” Emma asked, glancing around the kitchen.

“He’s not here,” Elsa answered.

“What?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest and she tried to keep the fear off her face. Elsa just smiled at her.

“He and David went to Granny’s,” she said. “Something about coffee.”

“He went out with David?”

Ingrid peered at her over the edge of her coffee cup – smiling like she was the damn Chesire Cat – before walking towards the living room. “He said he didn’t want to wake you up.”

“It was nice,” Elsa added. “He was being nice, Emma.”

She made a face, reaching for the loaf of bread on the counter and pulling out two slices before jamming them – rather forcefully – into the toaster next to her.

“He also added he’d be back later and that you should probably drink some water,” Elsa continued.

Emma narrowed her eyes at her sister and made a point of pulling a water bottle out of the fridge. Elsa just nodded at her. “I noticed you never came back last night,” she said.

“No,” Emma responded non-committedly.

“What happened?”

“We took a walk.”

“Huh.”

“You don’t need to do this, El,” Emma said slowly. “I’m already kind of freaking out as it is.”

“Why are you freaking out?”

Emma made a significant face, widening her eyes and taking an all-too-large bite of toast – as if that would somehow prove her point. “I don’t do emotions, El. You know that. I just...I’m freaking out.” She shrugged, unable to come up with another word.

“Is he doing emotions?”

Emma nodded. “A lot of them.”

“You know what I think?”

“I can only imagine.”

“I think the two of you should go out.”  
  
“What?!”

“Tonight,” Elsa continued. “Get food. Talk to him. Take him somewhere that isn’t Granny’s. Maybe make out somewhere other than the docks.”

Emma’s head snapped and her breath caught in her throat. “What?” she repeated.

“It’s a small town, the docks aren’t far from The Rabbit Hole, stuff happens.”

“Oh my God.”

“No one was particularly scandalized,” Elsa assured her. “I mean everyone thought he was your boyfriend anyway.” Emma groaned and leaned back against the counter. It was far too early for this. “I’m just saying, Emma, it might not be a bad idea to figure this out.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s probably true.”

“So go out. There’s no wedding requirements tonight.”

Emma sighed and bit her lip, weighing her options. “Maybe,” she said.

“Maybe isn’t no,” Elsa responded, looking particularly pleased with herself before turning on her heel and joining Ingrid in the living room.

* * *

He was playing _darts_. Darts. With David. He was playing darts at Granny’s like he belonged in Storybrooke, a cup of coffee a few inches away from him on the table.

He had his back turned to her when she walked in and Emma hesitated for a few moments, fighting her natural instinct to run and run when David noticed her loitering in the doorway.

“Emma!” he shouted at her, trying move past the hordes of tourists that had packed into the small dinner on a Thursday morning, looking to start their beach weekends just a bit earlier.

Killian spun around as soon as he heard David’ exclamation and Emma forced herself to stay rooted to the spot when his eyes met hers.

There was no smirk. There was no joke. There wasn’t even an elongated, vaguely teasing _Swan_. There were just blue eyes and a small, slightly nervous smile as he ran his hand through his hair.

Damn.

“Hey,” Emma mumbled, weaving her way through tables and chairs, doing her best not to step on toes. “I was wondering where you went.”

“I did tell Elsa,” Killian said, turning his eyes back to the dart board as David made his next shot.

“How do you think I ended up here?”

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled again, before making his next throw, hitting the center of the bullseye and earning a disappointed groan from David.

“Jeez,” David muttered. “Is this guy good at everything Emma?”

She laughed sarcastically and just shrugged. “Sometimes it seems like it.”

“Was that a compliment, Swan?”

“It might have been.”

Killian made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and raised his eyebrows at Emma, taking a step back towards her so David could throw his follow-up. He was impossibly close to her – standing as near as he could without _actually_ touching her – and Emma could practically feel herself losing her nerve.

She needed to get David out of here. She couldn’t do this in front of David. She’d never hear the end of it otherwise.

David threw his dart and missed the bullseye by several inches, groaning again.

“I just didn’t want to wake you up, you know,” Killian muttered as David reached forward to pull the dart out of the board with a bevy of exaggerated movements.

“That’s what Elsa said. I appreciate it. I just kind of wanted to ask you something.”

He turned his head to look at her – eyebrows raised in silent question again – so, naturally, that was the moment David picked to return.  
“What did you want to ask, Swan?” Killian said, walking back towards the small piece of scotch tape on the floor where he was supposed to stand.

David was next to her now and Emma had definitely lost her nerve. Killian threw an expectant glance back her as he raised his hand for the next throw. David nudged her shoulder when it took her longer than five seconds to respond.

“Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go out later,” she said as quickly as she possibly could, doing her best not to stumble over the words.

He didn’t even hit the dartboard.

David was uproarious.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?” Killian asked, turning slowly, brows drawn low and eyes narrowed, the _stupid_ smirk plastered on his face.

Emma tried to breath through her nose and focused on the piece of scotch tape. David couldn’t stop laughing.

“David, if you don’t shut up,” she hissed, “I’m actually going to kill you. With a butter knife. And Granny won’t appreciate that.”

He stopped laughing immediately.

Emma looked back up to find Killian still staring – and smirking, _God_ – at her, waiting for a response to his question. “If you haven’t figured out already,” she said slowly. “I’m not all that good at agreeing to pre-determined gender stereotypes.”

That got a genuine smile out of him.

“True,” he muttered. “One condition, though.”

She hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“I figure it out. Plan it. The whole nine-yards.”

“More sports puns?

“That wasn’t a baseball one, so I figured it was safe.”

“How are you going to plan anything? You’ve never been here before.”

“Bad form, Swan. I’m not an idiot. I can figure something out. Maybe I’ve got sources you don’t know about.”

“Do you?”

Killian shrugged, before walking back to pull his dart out of the wall where it had landed. “You’ll have to wait and see. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“At Mary Margaret’s,” Emma added quickly.

He nodded once again and Emma could hear David laughing as soon as she walked away. She stopped at the end of the counter, meeting a knowing-looking Granny who was leaning on the time-worn formica.

She didn’t say anything to Emma, just reached over the end of the counter and handed her a paper cup and a bag full of baked good.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbled.

Granny nodded solemnly. “Make sure he takes you somewhere nice.”

* * *

The problem with this whole date idea, Emma thought several hours later, was that she hadn’t packed for the occasion.

She had one semi-nice dress and she had to save that for the rehearsal dinner the next night or face being yelled at by Regina. It wasn’t as if Storybrooke was jam-packed with malls either and if she went to the one store that didn’t make her cringe on Main Street, Emma knew news of her date would be across the entire town before it even started.

All of this was how she found herself – still in shorts and a t-shirt – standing in front of Mary Margaret’s closet with less than an hour to spare before he was supposed to pick her up.

“Maybe I should just wear this,” Emma said after vetoing yet another dress. “I mean it’s not like he’s taking me anywhere fancy. There’s nowhere fancy to go in Storybrooke.”

“You don’t know that,” Mary Margaret objected quickly, staring at her phone after it had lit up with another text.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“Nothing.” That was a lie.

“M’s…” Emma said slowly, sitting up straighter on the edge of the bed. Elsa was a few feet away from her – leaning against the wall and staring at her phone as well. Suddenly, it all clicked. “Is he texting _both_ of you?”

Two quick _no’s_ sounded from either side of her – far quicker than they should have been and Emma knew she had gotten her answer.

“To be fair,” Elsa added. “He’s texting David too.”

“You’re group chatting about this?”

Emma’s sister shrugged and Mary Margaret looked a bit disappointed at giving up the secret. “You should really consider wearing a dress,” Mary Margaret continued. Emma just groaned.

She stood up and walked over towards the closet – noticing how much emptier it was after consistently shutting down outfit after outfit. She ran her hands over the remaining dresses, picking and pulling her way through the hangers before she landed on something she didn’t entirely hate. In fact, she kind of loved it.

It wasn’t her – it wasn’t something would normally wear. It was soft and pink and, well,  _gorgeous_.

“What about this?” Emma asked, pulling the dress off the hanger and turning towards Elsa and Mary Margaret.

“Yes,” Elsa said immediately.

“Absolutely,” Mary Margaret added.

“It’ll work?” Emma continued, holding the dress in front of her and glancing down.

“It’ll work,” Mary Margaret repeated, a small smile forming on her face. “Come on, I’ll do your hair.”

Mary Margaret had just finished wrapping the elastic around Emma’s hair when she heard the knock on the door.

“He’s very prompt,” Elsa commented, smiling at Emma’s reflection in the mirror. _God_ , it felt like high school.

“It’s all those years of baseball practice,” Emma explained. “You show up late you do sprints. He’s never late.”

“You’re done,” Mary Margaret proclaimed, putting her hands lightly on Emma’s shoulders. There was another knock on the door. “You better go open the door.”

Emma made a significant face in the mirror and tugged lightly on the end of her ponytail. She shouldn’t have been as nervous as she was, but as Emma walked down the stairs from Mary Margaret’s room to the front door, she couldn’t push away the feeling that something _important_ was about to happen.

She swung the door open quickly and Emma felt all her breath rush out of her. He was far too good looking. It wasn’t fair.

Emma stared at him for a beat and he stared right back, eyes wide as they lingered on her waist and the cinched dress that flared out over her hips. He was holding a _rose_. She wanted to hate him for it, to make a joke and cover everything up with sarcasm, but she couldn’t find the words.

He looked hopeful and nervous and a slew of other adjectives that Emma was certain she would be able to come up with in any other situation except this one.

And he was looking at her.

“Hey,” Emma muttered, shaking her head slightly like she was trying to wake herself up. “You look…”

“I know,” he said, a smug smile on his face. Emma rolled her eyes.

“That ego knows no bounds does it?”

He just shrugged and put his hand out, pushing the rose towards her. “For you,” he said softly, no trace of an ego anywhere in the the two words.

“Thanks.” Emma heard the stairs creak – that third one from the bottom was always the telltale sign, it had been since they were kids – and shut her eyes lightly. “We have an audience.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Mary Margaret said quickly. “I just…”

Emma didn’t give her a chance to finish, contrary to what it felt like, this wasn’t high school and Killian didn’t need to meet the family to bring her out. She grabbed the rose out of his hand and thrust it towards Mary Margaret. “Can you put this in water?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Of course. Go or you’ll miss your reservation.”

Killian tilted his head and made a vaguely exasperated noise. Mary Margaret gasped and covered her mouth quickly. “Sorry!” she shouted as Killian reached out and lightly grabbed Emma’s waist directing her towards the door.

“Come on love, she’s not wrong,” he said, pulling her back outside as Mary Margaret yelled to _have fun_ behind them.

“Where exactly are we going?” Emma asked as she followed him towards the sidewalk and the car parked there. “What is this?”

“So many questions Swan,” he laughed, opening the passenger door for her.

“You know how to drive?!”

“That’s another question,” he pointed out, slipping behind the wheel and turning the ignition. “But, yes, I do. I grew up in New York, Swan, but Louisville would have been hell on Earth if I didn’t know how to drive.”

“Huh.”

“That’s it?”

“You still haven’t answered my questions. Maybe I’ll have a better response then.”

“What were the other questions again?”

“Where we’re going and where you got this car.”

Killian nodded. “Ah, of course. Well we’re going to get dinner. First. And the car came from David’s mother.”

“You’ve met David’s mother?”

“I did have to pick up the car.”

“Did she make you eat?” Emma asked slyly, turning her head to look at him.

“She did. I was reliably informed she would not take no for an answer.”

He kept driving down Main Street, going further and further from the center of town and Emma continued to wonder what exactly his plan was. “You know you’re leaving Storybrooke,” she said as he closed in on the town line.

“I do.”

Killian didn’t say anything else and Emma didn’t ask, staring out the window as he just continued to drive. The radio played softly in the background and Emma laughed when an 80’s power ballad came out of the speakers.

“What?” he asked, a hint of worry inching into his voice.

“You’ve planned everything, but the music.”  
“Ah, well, I was also reliably informed not to change Mrs. Nolan’s radio presets.”

Emma laughed louder then, leaning her head back against the seat and smiled at Killian. He turned the car down another road and, suddenly, Emma realized where they were going, gasping slightly as the realization dawned on her.

“How did you know about this place?” she asked as Killian drove into the lot, parking the car and glancing at her.

“I’m fairly certain you already knew I had help,” he said. “This is the help.”

When Emma was a kid Bella Notte was _the_ restaurant Storybrooke teenages brought their dates to when they wanted to impress them. They went there before dances and after dances and on whatever sort of anniversaries high school kids celebrated.

She had never gone.

Not once.

And somewhere in the back of her mind she had always been disappointed that no one thought she was important enough to bring to Bella Notte. Until now.

“Did M’s tell you?” Emma whispered, walking around the car to stand next to Killian. He nodded.

“Elsa too. They were very adamant.”

She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

Instead she made some sort of noise in the back of her throat and felt her legs wobble underneath her slightly.

Killian reached his arm out and wrapped it firmly around her waist – holding it up. “Come on, love,” he whispered, inches away from her ear. “We’ve got a reservation to make.”

* * *

Emma raised her eyebrows at him when the bottle of wine appeared at their table.

“It seemed more appropriate than rum,” he said.

“I think I’m officially off the rum train for now. My head felt like it was going to snap open this morning.”

“I tried to make sure you got some water in you in regular intervals last night.”

“I noticed that. I also noticed that you made sure my glass was consistently filled with rum. What exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

He raised one eyebrow slowly, smirking at her, leaning against the chair. “Well, you did spend a good amount of time making out on the dock, so essentially that.”

“It’s all over town, you know.”

“That was the first thing Mrs. Nolan asked me about when I went to pick up the car.” Emma groaned and took a long sip of wine. “You regret it?”

The insecurity in his voice hit her like a flashing neon sign and Emma drank more of her wine before answering. “No,” she said with a conviction that surprised herself.

Killian’s answering smile was practically blinding.

“That makes two of us.”

“Good.”

The food came before Emma could plow into anymore uncharted emotional territory – a fact she was grateful for – until she decided to mess it all up.

She’d seen the tattoo before – noticed the bright colors on the back of his left forearm every time he wore short sleeves – and she had practically documented every inch of it when he was helping Henry in the cages.

If Emma was being honest with herself, it was equal part curiosity as much as it was jealousy. The red heart with a dagger through it and one word emblazoned through the center. _Milah_.

She was staring at it without realizing and Killian must have repeated her name several times before Emma finally looked up.

“Still with me, Swan?” he asked.

“I have a question.”

He eyed her warily, glance darting between Emma’s eyes and his still-upturned forearm. “And what is that?”

“Who’s Milah?”

It was the reaction she was expecting – the anger almost visibly coursing through him as soon as she said the name. This was different from when she had talked about Liam. He didn’t shut down. His eyes flashed at her, warning her to back off.

“No one,” he said softly, but his voice cut through Emma like a knife.

“You regularly tattoo no one on your skin?”

“And you said you wouldn’t push.”

“I’m not pushing,” she argued. “I’m asking. No one’s making you tell me.”

Killian narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips tightly over his teeth. “You’ll be mad if I don’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

“She’s gone,” he said quickly, before resetting his face and throwing a callous smirk Emma’s direction. “No need to be threatened, Swan.”

Emma felt her own anger course through her quickly. “Wow,” she said, staring at her plate. She heard Killian sigh and saw his hand reach out towards her before he seemed to think better of it and pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, clenching his fist.

“Yeah.”

He sighed again and, this time, he did reach out and touch her hand. Emma turned her hand over and wrapped her fingers around his before she could come up with a reason not to.

“Did you know why Neal and I broke up?” Emma asked. He lifted his head quickly, shaking it slowly. “He found someone better. And I walked in on it. He tried to apologize for weeks, months even, but it was kind of hard to accept that apology when he was telling me that I had basically _forced_ him to find someone who’d pay attention to him.”

“You know that’s not true, right Swan?”

“I do now. David and Mary Margaret played a large role in that education, though. It took awhile.”

Killian smiled at her sadly and Emma knew he realized what she had done – shared something deep and dark and personal so he could do the same.

“You really want to know?” he asked, running his thumb over the tattoo.

“Only if you really want to tell me.”

“I do.”

He took a deep breath and smiled at her again – less sad than it was before, but just as nervous. “Well, it actually times up fairly nicely with where we left off yesterday. So you remember the part where my brother died?”

“Killian,” Emma said sharply, widening her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

He looked ashamed for a moment and ran tugged on the back of his hair. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s easier to be an ass.”

“You’re not an ass. You’re angry. There’s a difference.”

“Well, either way, it does start with Liam dying. I had no idea what way was up then. I was so close to graduating and I really did like writing. Liam was going to come back down for the ceremony and then he went and died.”

He laughed sardonically and shook his head. “So rum and I got to be fairly close and I don’t even really remember the actual graduation ceremony. But I already had a job offer set up in Louisville – this kind of hometown paper that jumped at the opportunity to get _Killian Jones_ to write for them. I need to get straight and I did. I knew Liam would hate it. He’d be _disappointed_ or something parental and I needed this job.

And it worked well for awhile. I wrote and I covered sports and it almost didn’t totally suck to be stuck on the sidelines. Then they sold the paper. A man named Robert Gold bought and everything changed.”

Killian paused slightly stabbing his pasta with his fork. “You don’t have to do this,” Emma said softly. He just shook his head.

“Gold showed up and I knew, from the start, he and I weren’t going to get along,” Killian continued. “We didn’t. At all. He wanted to change everything I wrote, wouldn’t allow anything aside from straight gamers, nothing except a laser focus on print.”

“I’d had enough of it one day and, for the first time in months, I got a drink. I was sitting at some godforsaken bar in Louisville and she sat down next to me. We talked for awhile and she told me her name was Milah. Conveniently left out her last name.”

Realization hit Emma like a bucket of ice water. “She was Gold’s wife, wasn’t she?”

“Brilliant, Swan,” he said, smiling genuinely at her. “She was. Didn’t tell me at first – although she didn’t go home with me that first night either. But it didn’t take long to realize that Gold was as terrible a man as he was a publisher. She wanted to see the world and all Gold wanted to was to sit in Louisville for the rest of his life and rot.”

“So she came to you?” Emma asked.

He nodded once. “Scared me half to death when she showed up. Middle of the night, bag in hand and questions about everything – New York and baseball and what the rest of the country looked like. She wanted to know everything and I loved her for it.”

Emma swallowed slowly, trying to process the words. They shouldn’t have affected her as much as they did, but he had showed up with that _stupid_ rose and everything had changed.

“It was good for awhile,” he said. “Gold seemed to have given up. Milah and I made plans. We were going to go back to New York – I hadn’t been since Liam died – and we were both going to start over. It was only a few months, but it felt like I had known her forever. It was, well, it was everything.”

Killian’s eyes focused over Emma’s shoulder and she silently wondered if he was remember nights with her and stolen moments in the morning and a shared life that had, somehow, been torn apart before it really even had a chance.

“And then,” he continued. “She was gone. And Gold was gone. She filed divorce papers, told me she loved me and then disappeared. I spent nearly a year trying to track her down and I found her – in California with him. She went back.”

He spit out the last three words as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to say them. Emma narrowed her eyes. “So, that’s it,” he added unnecessarily.

“You really think she went back to him?”

"You don’t.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

“Not many people did.”

“What did they think?”

“That he threatened her or me. Somehow. I don’t know how. But it’s too much of a coincidence. She filed and a day later she was gone. They said he must have found a way to get to me and it scared her and she wanted to protect me. So she left.”

“That’s what happened.”

“You can’t know that, Swan.”

“I can think it.”

“That makes it worse.”

“How?”

“She was going to leave, to start over, have a brand-new chance. I wanted that for her, even it wasn’t with me. And I robbed her of that.”

“Killian,” Emma said, trying to infuse as much sincerity into her voice as possible. “That’s not true. She had a choice and she made it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” she said, squeezing his hand – he hadn’t let go of it the entire time he was talking. “You have a tendency to be slightly hard on yourself.”

He rolled his head to the side and smiled at her. Emma’s stomach didn’t flip at the sight – it didn’t.  
“This wasn’t part of the plan, you know,” he said softly. “The schedule did not include my long and depressing history.”

“There was a schedule?”

“There was a schedule.”

“Far be it from me to deviate from the schedule.”

“Would you like to return to our regularly scheduled programing then, Swan?”

Emma laughed and nodded quickly. “I would love to.”

* * *

 He had brought a bat. And a baseball.

“Did Mrs. Nolan give these to you too?” Emma asked, doing her best to hide her wonder that he had been able to do _all_ of this in just a few hours.

Killian was already shaking his head before she had even finished the sentence. “Nah. These came from Robin.”

She almost choked on the air she was breathing. “What? You’ve met Robin already too? Did everyone in Storybrooke know about all of this except me?

“Probably by the end of it, if I’m being honest.”

“Jeez.”

Killian flashed a smile at her, glancing over his shoulder as he slammed down the trunk. He spun around quickly, bat leaning on his shoulder as he tossed the ball to himself. Emma gaped at him.

“What’s the matter, Swan?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I”m just wondering where we are and what exactly it is we’re doing.”

“You’re the one who grew up here, shouldn’t you know where we are at all times?”

“I got here when I was 12. That’s hardly growing up. And I didn’t even know there was a side road back here. It’s kind of dark.”

It was _very_ dark if she were being honest. He had left the lights running on the car and they helped, but where they were standing was almost pitch black.

They were in the middle of the _fucking_ woods.

Emma shivered slightly, wrapping her arms around her middle and Killian ripped the ball out of the air, still smiling.

“Cold?” he asked.

“It’s August.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“A little.”

He held his hands out, nudging his shoulders slightly so Emma knew to take the bat and ball from him. She leaned the barrel of the bat into the ground and did her best to keep her weight off the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t sink into the dirt.

Killian was gone for all of two seconds before returning – hands stretched out in front of him again – to present Emma with his jacket.

“Did you bring this with you?” she asked incredulously. “It’s August.”

“You’ve now informed me of the date twice, love. I’ve got it.” He pushed his hand closer to hers again, trying to get her to take the jacket and Emma sighed before giving in and grabbing it quickly.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Well,” he answered, reaching out to grab her wrist and direct back in front of the car. “You learn fairly quickly to be prepared on multi-day baseball trips. If you forget anything, you’re basically out of luck. It makes you an efficient packer.”

“Boy scout,” Emma said as she turned in front of the car.

“Baseball player,” he said, pointing at himself.

“You still haven’t explained what exactly we’re doing here.”

“Were the bat and ball not good clues?” Emma shook her head and Killian laughed, leaning back against the car and crossing his arms. “You’re going to learn how to hit, Swan.”

“What? I’m wearing a dress!”

“I don’t think that’s going to make this any more difficult. You don’t really need to use your legs.”

“That’s not true,” Emma objected. “You told Henry he had to his knees more.”

Killian’s eyes widened slowly and Emma allowed herself a few breaths to appreciate how good he looked when things were just _slightly_ out of control.

“You remembered that?” he asked softly, pulling the bat lightly out of her hands.

“I listen.”

“Sometimes,” he said, his voice a whisper she almost had to strain to hear over the still-running car engine. Killian touched her arm softly and Emma could feel the goosebumps immediately. His low chuckle at the sight made her stomach flip.

“I liked watching you show him how to swing,” she responded, hoping her voice didn’t crack. “It..well...it was nice. You never made him feel like he wasn’t doing something right, just pointed out ways he could make it better.”

Her hair had fallen in her face slightly, a rogue piece that simply refused to obey the unwritten rules of Mary Margaret’s dozens of bobby pins. Killian lifted his hand and slowly – excruciatingly – pushed it back behind her ear.

“Let’s play, Swan,” he said and Emma knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he meant more than just baseball.

She surprised him. She was good.

“Who knew you had so much untapped baseball talent, love,” he said, standing a few feet away as she followed through on her swing again.

“Surprise,” she said, leaning on the bat again and curtsying slightly. Killian just laughed.

“It seems you do that to me a lot.”

“Right back at you.”

“Yeah?”

Emma nodded. “Almost always. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on it, you throw me a curveball.”  
His head fell back and he laughed – loudly. “Didn’t we put an end to the baseball puns?

“For you.”

“Ah, so you’re in a class unto yourself then?”

“You tell me.”

Emma couldn’t blame the rum this time. She was one hundred percent sober and one hundred percent playing with fire – again. Killian stared at her for a beat, before reaching out and pulling handedly on her waist, dragging her closer to him. She could feel the heat coming off him and shivered again as it matched up with her still goosebumped-skin.

“Absolutely, love,” he whispered, leaning down to talk almost directly in her ear. That set off a whole new round of goosebumps.

She spun slightly, bringing her body face to face with his and moved forward until there was hardly any space between them at all. “Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“That’s awfully vague.”

She wasn’t sure why she was pushing him again. She had nearly fucked everything up when she did it before. But Emma needed to know – she needed to know _why_. Why he was acting like this, why he had agreed to go to Storybrooke in the first place and why he’d go through so much effort to spend just a few hours with her by herself.

“I want to,” he said simply and Emma remembered what she had told Mary Margaret after she had kissed him.

Emma leaned on the bat again, but this time she was doing her best to keep herself standing up, not just keep her shoes out of the dirt. She blinked a few seconds, trying to find her center of gravity, but then she moved, stepping back into his space and kissing him.

He did that _thing_ again – that sound he made in the back of his throat when Emma took him by surprise – but it was only a matter of seconds before he was kissing her back. With force.

His hands wrapped around her waist, ballooning his jacket around her and Emma’s fingers seemed to find their way into his hair of their own accord. She couldn’t imagine how it was possible to stand any closer to him, but Killian seemed intent to find out, pulling her towards him so every single inch of her body was pushed up against his.

It lasted forever.

He hadn’t just punched her ex-boyfriend, they weren’t in the middle of Storybrooke. They were alone – for the longest time since they had first met, Emma realized belatedly – and Emma was willing to stay there forever.

The bat – which had been unceremoniously pushed up against the car – fell to the ground with a clamor and Emma jumped at the noise. She heard Killian laugh to himself and Emma forced herself to open her eyes.

 _God_. He looked good. She reached forward to try and kiss him again, but Killian stopped her with a simple hand on her shoulder. Emma bit her lip.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

Her teeth tightened over her lip and Emma nodded slowly. “Of course.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“You asked me, so I’m asking you why,” he said. “Why?”

Emma hadn’t been expecting that – she should have known. Killian stared at her, a mix of hope and trepidation on his face and all Emma wanted to do was kiss him again and prove that he deserved someone, _anyone_ who liked him and believed in him and wasn’t going to walk away.

Killian raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth turned up. He wouldn’t push. Emma simply had to answer.

“You’ve caught me by surprise,” she said, ducking her eyes. Emma hoped he’d understand what she meant.

He did.

And then he kissed again.

Emma was a quick study and had quickly discovered that Killian Jones had several levels of kissing. She’d encountered want and disappointment and even desire, but this one was something else – she felt like she was giving in.

Killian pulled away and Emma made a disappointed noise, earning a laugh from him, but he didn’t leave her unoccupied for long. He moved across her jaw, down her neck, the scruff on his face scratching her slightly.

“Killian,” she mumbled. “You can’t do that, they’ll see it. My dress...it’s...it won’t cover that.”

He laughed against the crook between her shoulder and neck. “Fair enough, love.”

Emma leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing him in for a moment, as his hands lingered on her waist. “You going to teach me how to swing?” he asked.

“You seem to already have all the finer points down.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get some tips from a master.”

“Hardly.”

“You hit .400 in the College World Series,” she scoffed. “That’s a master.”  
“I knew you were stalking me, Swan.” He started walking away from the car, pushing her along with him and grabbing the bat and ball as well.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked.

“I have a ball, you have a bat. You use the bat to hit the ball.”

Emma rolled eyes. “Thank you,” she answered, voice full of sarcasm. “I mean, it’s only one ball. I’m going to hit it and it’ll be gone. And speaking of which, who is throwing the ball?”  
  
“I am.”

“How?”

Killian tilted his head at her and made a face. “I have one good hand, Swan and it just so happens to be my right hand. I can throw.”

“Oh,” she said, face flushing with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not love. That was, as they say, a joke. We’ll go over specifics, you’ll stand there and then you’ll hit it out of the park.”

“Baseball puns. No more baseball puns.”

“More a cliche than a pun.”

Emma groaned and Killian just laughed, handing her the bat. “Hold this. Now we don’t have a  box, but stand there like there is one. Keep your shoulders loss, but tighten your wrists and bend your knees.”

Emma followed the instructions, but only after drawing a line in the dirt and raising her hand as if she really was stepping into the batters box.

“Was that Derek Jeter’s walk-up?” Killian asked.

“It was.”

“You really are something else, Swan.”

“Throw the ball.”

“You don’t want to take a practice swing?”

It wasn’t the first time that night Emma felt like Killian had asked her a question that meant a lot more than just the words he said. It was, however, the first time they didn’t entirely terrify her.

“Throw the ball, Killian,” Emma sighed.

He smiled at her, mimicking a big-league windup before under-handing the ball towards her. Emma heard the bat connect and let out a yelp of excitement, jumping up slightly as the skirt of her dress billowed around her.

“Did you see that?” she exclaimed.

“I did,” Killian nodded. “That was fantastic Swan. A natural.”

“Eh one hit, isn’t exactly a natural.”

“I would argue with you, love, but I know I won’t get anywhere.” He walked back towards her and slung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his side. “You want to see if we can find the ball? Robin seemed certain he’d need it back.”

“Nah,” Emma said. “I’ll buy him another one. Plus, I kind of like it out there, like we’ve left our mark or something.”

Killian turned his head to look at her, smiling for a few seconds before bending down and kissing her on the top of her head. “I like that too,” he said.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is a lot. Because I don't understand what word count means. Thanks for sticking with me guys and THANK YOU for every click, comment and kudos.


	27. Chapter 27

They were sitting in the back seat of Ingrid’s car, Elsa seizing the front seat again, like they were in junior high. David had offered to drive them to the rehearsal dinner – his mother’s car safely back in her possession after Emma and Killian’s _whatever_ the night before – but Emma had refused.

She felt bad enough that she wasn’t spending enough time with Ingrid and Elsa already. She wasn’t going to ditch them for the second night in a row.

“Did you know she made Granny make all the food, but wouldn’t have the rehearsal dinner in the actual diner?” Elsa asked, knocking Emma out of her thoughts quickly.

“What?”

Elsa rolled her eyes as he peered around her seat to stare. “Regina. She hired Granny to make all the food, but wouldn’t have the actual dinner there.”

“Well,” Ingrid said, slowly and Emma could tell she was trying to play Devil’s advocate. “She’s got a lot of guests coming.”

“Because she thinks she’s the queen of Storybrooke,” Emma muttered. Killian stayed silent, but glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and she could see the small smile on his face.

“Emma,” Ingrid said, narrowing her eyes in the rearview mirror. It really did feel like junior high.

“I’ve got to get it all out of my system before we get there, Ingrid. Otherwise I’m going to say something to her face and it just won’t end well.”

Killian tried to turn his laughter into a cough, but failed miserably. Emma made a face and Elsa didn’t even try to hide her own smile. “I would pay to see that happen, Emma,” she said.

“You’d pay for that, but you won’t pay for your own drinks?”

“Ah, well, that’s totally different.”

“Of course.”

The rehearsal dinner was at the only other restaurant in Storybrooke that wasn’t Granny’s – a banquet hall that regularly hosted every major high school dance and event that wouldn’t fit comfortably in the diner.

Emma stepped out of the car and felt her breath catch slightly at the sight. She knew Regina – not to mention Cora – were good at making sure everything looked perfect, but this was something different entirely.

The building didn’t look like the same space that hosted Emma’s senior prom. It looked, well, it looked _gorgeous_. Small, twinkling lights hung in every tree and freshly-planted flowers lined the walkway to the double doors that were swung open to welcome in guests.

She could already hear Cora’s voice from down the hallway – directing some poor waiter on the proper way to offer champagne – and glanced at Killian, who looked vaguely awestruck at the entire spectacle in front him. He tugged on his tie slightly and Emma smiled, reaching forward to grab his hand.

His head snapped towards her, quickly and Emma wondered if she had done something wrong. “What?” she asked softly.

“It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Regina has a way of doing that. You ok?” She turned, stepping in front of him and putting herself in between Killian and the hall. Ingrid and Elsa were already halfway inside. Emma reached up to brush a stray piece of hair that was falling in his eyes.

“Of course, love,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to grab hers. He’d been been doing that more often. There was still a fair amount of _Swan_ and even that one _Emma_ , but Killian had started calling her _love_ more and more often the longer they were in Storybrooke. Emma wasn’t over thinking that. At all.

Killian smiled at her for a moment and bent his head quickly, skimming his lips over hers.

Emma almost pulled away, heart stuttering at the thought of anyone seeing them, but then he squeezed her hand and wrapped his fingers through hers and she couldn’t come up with a reason _not_ to kiss him in the middle of the walkway.

“Emma,” a voice said from behind them. She ignored it. He ignored it. “Emma!”

She sighed, pulling away from him and Killian just laughed. “What, Ruby?” Emma asked, not turning around.

“Just wondering if you were going to get out of the middle of the road before Regina came out and killed you.”

“She’s not going to kill me, it’ll mess up her manicure.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Emma groaned, resting her head on Killian’s shoulder and he laughed again, tugging on her hand. “Come on Swan, let’s go inside before you get brutally murdered by well-manicured nails.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

She didn’t stop him from pulling her into the hall, though, and Emma was even more impressed by the inside. Regina and Robin were standing at the front of the room, hugging and shaking hands with guests as they stopped to congratulate the couple.

Regina looked _happy_. Really happy. Thrilled, even. It took Emma by surprise.

“What?” Killian asked, glancing over at her.

“She looks happy.”  
  
“Isn’t she supposed to be?”

“I didn’t know Regina did happy.”

“Maybe she only does it for special occasions.”

“Or maybe she only does it when she’s near Robin.”

Killian shrugged. “True love and whatnot, Swan.”

“You believe all that?” She bit her lip slightly, anxious for and dreading his answer. He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Don’t you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not sure,” he said quickly.

“Me either.”

Killian opened his mouth and Emma was certain something _important_ was about to happen when David and Mary Margaret approached them, each of them holding two flutes of champagne.

“We come bearing gifts,” David said, entirely unaware of the conversation he had interrupted as he pushed the drinks towards Emma and Killian.

Emma took a deep breath and a step away from Killian – he kept his fingers firmly entwined with hers, something Mary Margaret failed to miss. Her eyes were zeroed in on them.

“Alright there, M’s?” Emma asked, taking a long sip of champagne.

“Absolutely,” Mary Margaret answered. “Are you?”

Emma shot her a look and Mary Margaret just raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”

“Good.”

“Granny was asking about you,” David said.

“Me?”

“You and Killian.”

“God.”

“You’re going to have to come up with complete sentences when you go to talk to her,” David added, smiling slightly and placing his now-empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “How much champagne do you think we can get before Cora starts to notice we’re going through her entire supply?”

“I’m happy to test out that theory with you,” Emma answered.

“Find Granny first,” Mary Margaret said. “She was adamant. You might need the champagne more afterwards.”

Emma groaned, dropping her shoulders in the process. “Of course she was.”

“I already looked, we’re all at the same table too,” Mary Margaret continued, nodding towards the chairs where Emma could already see Ingrid and Elsa’s bags.

“Small miracles.”  
  
“It’ll be fine,” she said, smilingly slightly and staring – once more  – at Emma and Killian’s linked hands, before walking towards the table, with David not far behind.

“Granny?” Killian asked, a note of nervous energy in his voice.

“Granny.”

She was sitting in the back – as close to the kitchen as she possibly could be without getting yelled at by Regina – and Emma waved slightly. Granny waved back, eyes narrowing on Killian and his arm wrapped around Emma’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Emma said. “Why are you hiding back here?”  
  
“I’m not hiding,” Granny said pointedly. “I’m making sure they don’t mess up my food anymore than they already have.”

“They’ve messed it up?” Emma smiled fondly, wondering how Regina ever thought Granny would take a catering job and then not want to monitor every single detail of it.

“They tried to reheat the pasta in the microwave.”

“I can’t believe Cora would allow that to happen.”

“She didn’t. Nearly scared four different waiters right out of those ridiculous uniforms she’s making them wear. They were reminded what an oven is and how it works and I managed to convince Cora to let me watch them from back here until everything was served.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I know it’s been awhile since you’ve waitressed, but even you have to know that _fine_ seems like a bit of a longshot.”

“You waitressed?” Killian asked, leaning away from her so he could look straight at Emma.

“Not really. Only when Granny needed extra help.”

“She was pretty good at it too,” Granny added.

“I have no doubt,” Killian responded, tightening his hold on Emma’s shoulders again.

“Did you just want us over here to complain about the food?” Emma asked slyly, eyebrows raised slightly at the woman.

Granny looked affronted. “No,” she snapped, glancing at the kitchen when she heard something crash. “Although that is a bit of an added bonus. I wanted to officially meet your guy, Emma.”

“Killian’s not my guy,” Emma said quickly – far too quickly – and Granny didn’t miss a beat.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

Emma scowled, trying to put some distance between her and Killian’s bodies, but he just held her tighter.

“Oh yeah?” Emma challenged. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like those rumors about you two making out on the sidewalk a few minutes ago were true. And _he_ ,” she nodded towards Killian, “looks like he can’t wait to get you back out to that sidewalk and start some more talk.”

Killian’s arm dropped from Emma’s shoulders as quickly as if he had been burned and she did her best to try and flash him an apologetic look before answering Granny.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Emma.” Granny turned her attention back to Killian who suddenly looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but Storybrooke, Maine. “You know,” she added. “She used to try and get out of doing homework when she was a kid. Told me it was all finished so she could steal some baked goods from behind the counter while she was waiting for Ingrid to finish her shift. Never did though. And we always knew.”

“You were a baked goods thief, Swan?” Killian asked softly, one eyebrow perfectly raised.

“Hardly,” she objected. “But no kid ever wants to do math homework when there are bear claws to be eaten.”

“Why do you call her that?” Granny asked suddenly, breaking up the conversation again.

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling Emma by her last name, why?”

“Oh,” Killian answered. “I like it.”

“Emma’s not really a nickname girl.”

“Granny,” Emma said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation as quickly as she could. “It’s really ok. I kind of like it too, actually.”

She could feel Killian staring at her and it took everything in her power not to turn and look back. That was the first time Emma had admitted _that_ and she knew it meant something.

“It’s kind of a thing,” she added quickly, shrugging her shoulders.

“A thing?” Granny repeated.

“A thing.”

Killian was beaming. There was no other word. He trailed his hand up Emma’s spine and she did her best not to melt at the touch. She couldn’t _melt_ in the middle of a rehearsal dinner.

Granny glanced between Emma and Killian, that same knowing look on her face.

“What’s going on with you?” Emma asked bluntly. When a woman had seen you through your teenage years with an endless supply of bear claws and hot chocolate, you could be blunt. At least that’s the story Emma was going with.

“Nothing is going on with me Emma. I’m just curious about things. You brought him,” she nodded towards a still-smiling Killian, “with you and he’s been calling you names and following you around and no one can stop talking about it. You spark an old lady’s curiosity.”

“You’re not that old.”  
  
“Old enough.”

Emma stared at her and shook her head slowly. She was bordering dangerously close to saying _fuck it_ and telling Killian a whole slate of deeply emotional and vaguely absurd things and if Granny didn’t stop soon, Emma was liable to pull him into the closest closet and push her lips against his with as much intensity as she could muster.

She didn’t get a chance.

Mr. Blanchard tapped a glass with a fork at the front of the room and said something about dinner and everyone taking their seats and Emma let out a deep breath. “Thank goodness for small miracles, again,” she muttered.

“When everyone else starts asking you questions Emma,” Granny said seriously, “you’ll be dying to come back here and have this conversation with me again.”

Emma shot her a look and tugged on Killian’s hand, pulling him back towards the designated table.

“A thing, Swan?” he said in her ear.

“A thing.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“Is it not?”

Killian shook his head, pulling Emma’s chair out for her. She rolled her eyes. “No, it absolutely is. I just wasn’t aware you thought it was.”

“Surprise.”

“I like it.” He smiled at her again and Emma was certain her entire nervous system was shutting down. Her entire body felt like it was on pins and needles. Killian’s hand lingered on her waist when she sat down and Emma, for the second time in as many minutes, did her resolute best to not melt into the floor.

“Did you talk to Granny?” Mary Margaret asked, slipping into her seat next to Emma.

“Reported for duty as instructed.”

“Emma…”

Mary Margaret didn’t have a chance to properly chastise her before Elsa settled into her seat on the other side of the table and pushed the centerpiece out of the way so she could stare at Emma.

“What’s going on with you, El?” Emma asked pointedly.

“What’s going on with you?” she repeated.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Elsa narrowed her eyes and started speaking quickly and quietly. “You’ve started a question inquisition across this entire town. People are asking _Ingrid_ about you. She’s doing her best to shut them down and shut them up, but I thought you might want to know.”

“What are they talking about?” Killian asked. Emma wished he wouldn’t ask so many questions. Journalist.

“You know what they’re talking about,” Elsa said as if she were talking about the most obvious thing in the world.

Killian chuckled darkly and Emma felt his hand drop away from her waist – only to land on the top of her thigh. _Jeez_.

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Emma did her best to glare at Elsa and smile encouragingly at Killian, but she was fairly certain she was failing at both.

“Not much.”

“Good.”

Well, Emma hadn’t expected that.

Elsa and Emma had always been notoriously protective of one another. From the moment that Elsa moved into the room next to her’s, Emma had made it her personal job to make sure that her sister never worried about anything – or at least never worried about _much_.

Elsa had still been young when she ended up with Ingrid – freshly out of a home that kept her locked in her room for the majority of the day, telling her how worthless she was and how she had to be quiet and well-behaved.

For a long time Elsa had believed all of that, was certain that she couldn’t be close to anyone, didn’t deserve anything. Emma made sure that changed.

It was a determination that had earned Emma a fiercely protective sister in her own right. Not many people met Elsa’s standards for Emma. Graham hadn’t, Neal certainly hadn’t, but Emma had a sneaking suspicion that maybe Killian did.

“Good,” Killian repeated, smiling at Elsa across the table with his hand still firmly resting on Emma’s thigh.

Overall, the rehearsal dinner hadn’t been an entire disaster. Ingrid did her best to shut down the rumor parade that – even Emma had to admit – was a bit of her own fault.

As they walked into the house, Emma pulled on Ingrid’s shirtsleeve, falling into step with her as Killian and Elsa made their way into the house.

“Something wrong sweetheart?” Ingrid asked.

“No, the opposite actually.”

“Then why the sleeve pull?”

“I wanted to thank you.”  
  
“For?”

“Is this twenty questions?”

“You’re just confusing me. I appreciate the thanks, I’m just not sure what for.”

“For telling everyone in this stupid town to shut up tonight.”

That got a laugh out of Ingrid and Emma felt herself relax a little bit. “It’s your business, Emma, not anyone else’s. They should keep their mouths shut. Although,” she added, using the same tone of voice that would have sent a jolt of fear through teenage-Emma’s veins, “maybe next time, you pick a better location? Not that I’m opposed to the kissing, just maybe not in front of the door at the banquet hall?”

“That’s fair,” Emma said. “I just...I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“And you’re worried.” It wasn’t a question. Emma nodded.

“Oh, Emma,” Ingrid said softly, tugging lightly on the end of her hair. “I don’t think you should be.”

“No?”  
  
Ingrid shook her head, but her eyes were serious. “I don’t. Do you know what he did yesterday?”

“I know he planned a date and everyone in this town knew about it.”

“That’s true, but it was more than that. He asked me about it, what you’d like and what you wanted when you were a kid. God, Emma, he was _nervous_. He wanted it to be perfect.”  
  
“It was,” Emma whispered before she could think of a reason not to.

“Good.” Ingrid tugged on her air again before smiling at Emma. “I didn’t hear you come in last night. Was it late?”  
  
“Not really,” Emma shrugged. “He taught me how to hit.”

“What?”

“Hit – you know, like a baseball? He was a really good baseball player before he wrote.”  
  
“I bet he filled out a uniform really well.”  
  
“Ingrid!”

“You can’t tell me that’s not something that’s crossed your mind.” Emma scuffed her foot along the walkway and stared at the ground, refusing to respond. That refusal was more than enough. “I knew it.”

“I better get inside,” Emma sighed. “Before Elsa continues the inquisition. He already had to deal with David before.”

“That’s a good thing, Emma,” Ingrid said. “You’ve got people willing to fight for you.”  
  
“I know,” she smiled, squeezing Ingrid’s hand before heading back into the house.

Killian was already in her room – she doubted she’d ever get used to that – shoes carefully placed in the corner and his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“Hey,” he said, glancing towards the door when it creaked behind her.

“Hey. Thanks for tonight.”  
  
“That’s not anything to thank me for.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Why do you feel like you have to thank me for any of this?”

“You’re just putting up with a lot.” Emma leaned against the door after she closed it, crossing her hands over her chest.

“That isn’t true at all.”

“Everyone is talking about you.”

“That’s happened my whole life.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “This isn’t because of baseball though. They’re saying a lot of other stuff.”

“Yeah, like what?”  
  
“You know what.”

“Why do I feel like you’re angry about this?”  
  
“I’m not,” Emma said honestly. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. _God_. Why was she so nervous? “Really. I’m not. I’m...jeez, I’m doing this wrong.”

“I’m confused, Swan,” he said, taking a step forward and slowly pulling her arms apart.

“I know. I know. I am too.”

“About?”

“You. Me. This whole weekend.”  
  
“It’s only Friday, love. You’ve got a few days left.”  
  
“That’s what worries me.”

Emma bit her lip. Killian’s shoulders sagged and he quickly tugged the tie off completely, tossing it towards the desk chair in the corner where his jacket was. “Why?” he asked.

“Because this is a lot,” Emma said quickly. “ _You’re_ a lot and I just...I don’t do this. Ever. I didn’t even make out with anyone at the docks when I was 15, let alone now. And people are talking and you’re talking and telling me all these things and...it’s a lot.”   
She looked up and met Killian’s stare straight on. He was smiling and shaking his head, hand halfway through his hair already.  

“It is a lot,” he agreed. “But maybe it’s good?”

“Maybe.”

“For the record, I don’t really do this either. Not...well not in a long time.”

“Since Milah?”

Killian took a deep and nodded slowly, walking closer to Emma and putting both hands on either side of her so she was locked into her spot against the door.

“When did you go back to New York?” she asked, trying relieve some of the tension in the room.

“What?”

“New York. When did you decide to actually go back?”

“Trying to pry more personal information out of me, Swan?”

Emma made a face and ducked underneath his arm to sit on the bed. She pushed a few of the pillows on the floor and nodded towards the spot. Killian narrowed his eyes at her.

“Sit,” she said. “Talk.”

“I thought the talk was worrying you.”

“It is. Doesn’t mean I’m not still curious.”  
  
“Journalist,” he accused, but he smiled as he sat down next to her, leg brushing up against hers. Emma just shrugged. “Alright, so you want to know about New York?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“Swan,” he groaned.

She bumped her shoulder with his and got a laugh out of Killian as he put his hand back on her leg. “Ok, so where were we?” he asked.

“She went back and you…”  
  
“Had trouble coping?” he interrupted.

“You tell me.”

“That’s the nicest way to put it. It wasn’t as bad as Liam, but it was close. I, uh, well I got very angry, very quickly. And I took it out on anyone. Everyone.”

“How?”

“I wanted to make Gold pay, for taking her back, for taking her away from me. And so I stopped. I barely wrote anything. I outed all my sources. I had a very specific reputation and the paper suffered. It didn’t take long before they basically forced me out the door. That was him too. He had a hand in everything, he knew what was going on. I don’t think anyone’s ever been so happy to see me leave.”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he continued. “You know I went to Colorado for awhile?” Emma shook her head. “I did. For a couple of months. Freelanced for a while out there, but I wanted to come home. I missed home.”

“I walked into _The Record_ without an interview – just my resume and a couple of clips that didn’t make me out to be a complete asshole. I talked to Carl that afternoon and I met Michael a few days later. They trusted me. I don’t know why. I just kind of forced my way in.”

“There is something to be said for gumption.”

“That was all I had. At that point, I didn’t have much else going for me. So I threw myself into writing. I covered everything – high schools, college, whatever they wanted me to do. I think I was trying to prove I could do it.”  
  
“You can,” Emma said vehemently and Killian threw her a lopsided smile that absolutely _did not_ make her stomach flip. “You know that right?”  
  
“I do now. I didn’t then, though. I didn’t know much at all then. I still don’t know what Carl saw in those clips or why Michael interviewed me. I should have been blackballed across the country. Gold would have seen to that.”  
  
“Maybe they didn’t care.”

Killian shrugged. “What about you, Swan? Why Seton Hall? Why New York?”

“Well, Mary Margaret and I decided on Seton Hall together actually.” Killian glanced at her, eyebrows raised and Emma nodded. “Yeah. I mean we were basically joined at the hip from the time she decided to be my friend, there was no way we weren’t going to the same school. And of course David came too. So we had to find somewhere we’d all fit.”

“Three musketeers,” he said softly and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “What?”

“That’s what we’ve always called ourselves.”

“That’s what you are. You’re your own mini-family.”

“Always,” Emma agreed. “And I wanted to go to New York. The little girl without parents finally felt like she belonged somewhere in New York. They came with me. They’ve always been there. I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do without them. So I freelanced for a while and did some work for anyone who would let me write. I schlepped back and forth between New Jersey for a year, writing over there, but I always wanted to be in the city. This job, it, well it changes everything.”

“Everything?”

Emma’s breath felt like it was stuck in her throat and she licked her lips, trying to think of the right answer. She settled for one word. “Everything,” she repeated, leaning up and catching Killian’s lips with hers.

She pushed back on his shoulders slightly, forcing him on his back and Killian’s hands instinctively wrapped around her waist. Emma rolled her hips slightly and he made a noise that sent chills down her spine.

She could feel him everywhere, one hand in her hair, the other making its way under the strap of her dress. He pulled away for a moment, staring at her with the kind of wonder that Emma felt down to her core. Then he was kissing her again, trailing his lips down her jaw and across her collarbone, light touches that sent jolts of electricity through her veins.

Emma moved again, trying to gain leverage so she could unbutton his shirt. Killian took the hint and tugged on the fabric, pulling it out of the tuck and making Emma’s job easier for her. He leaned up slightly, pulling Emma with him and tilted his head again, kissing her with a force that made her drop her hands in surprise.

His hands were tight on her waist and Emma was more or less sitting on top of his legs, dress a lost cause at this point. Somehow – she was never sure how – she managed to get all of the buttons undone and Killian moved his body slightly, trying to get his arms out of the sleeves.

Emma laughed slightly – an absurdly giddy sound she was certain she’d never made before in her life – and pulled on the cuffs until Killian Jones was sitting on her childhood bed, shirtless, hair sticking in every direction and his lips slightly bruised.

_God_.

“Swan,” he muttered against her lips and Emma shook her head.

“No,” she objected. “Less talking. More of this.” She trailed her hands down his side, teasing along the top of his pants. He shivered underneath her and Emma appreciated the affect she was having.

“Swan,” he said again, stronger as he pulled her hands into his. “Love, just listen to me for one second.”

Emma dropped her hands, pulling on the straps of her dress until they were properly situated back on her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. “Talk,” she said sharply.

“I just wanted you to know that this changed everything for me too.” He smiled at her, the ends of his mouth lifting up slowly as if he were too nervous to do anything more and reached out to brush the hair off her shoulders.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

She bit her lip again and returned Killian’s smile, trying to come up with some sort of response that wouldn’t make her sound like a love-struck fool.

“Don’t, you don’t have to say anything, Swan,” he said, reading her mind. _Open book_. “I just, I wanted you to know. I know you’re worried and I know the whole town is talking, but I wanted to be here. With you.”

Emma’s breath rushed out of her in one great huff and her shoulders felt as if they were collapsing as she let go of every bit of tension she had been holding on to. “I’m happy you’re here too,” she whispered.

Killian grabbed hold of her hands again, raising both of them to his lips and kissing softly along her knuckles. “You should try and get some sleep, love.”

“What?” Emma knew he could hear the disappointment in her voice and one quick glance at Killian saw him smiling at her again.

“Although I appreciate the enthusiasm, Swan, it is late and you do have a whole slate of responsibilities tomorrow.”

“Screw responsibility.”

Killian moved her easily – picking her up slightly off his legs – and pulling her against his side. “You’ve got to be ready for Regina tomorrow,” he said.

“So, what, you just want to watch a movie or something?

He nodded and Emma reached back over him, making sure to arch her back slightly so she stayed just out of reach and grabbed her laptop from the small spot between her bed and nightstand.

“Swan,” he muttered, a note of threat in his voice. She just smirked at him, the picture of innocence.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Pick a movie.”

Emma slid back to her side and pulled herself close to Killian, resting the laptop on his legs and leaning on his shoulder.

“Playing with fire,” he said softly.

“I’m not the one who said we should try and sleep.”

Killian laughed darkly, rocking Emma slightly with the movement. His hand trailed up and down her back and Emma did her best to ignore it completely. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow, Swan.”  
  
Emma groaned, biting back a handful of retorts about having a _busy night tonight_. She just hit play on the laptop and closed her eyes.

“Go to sleep, love, I’ll be here when you wake up.”


	28. Chapter 28

“We almost had sex.”

“What?!?”

Mary Margaret stared at Emma’s reflection in the mirror, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. The two of them were sitting in the back corner of the hotel room, trying their best to stay out of Regina’s way as she directed the small army of bridesmaids.

Killian hadn’t lied – he was there when she woke up, still shirtless and absurdly warm. Emma couldn’t remember when she had actually fallen asleep, but at some point he must have closed the laptop and put it back in its designated spot on the floor.

He was already awake when she opened her eyes, staring at his phone and occasionally moving his fingers across the screen to type a response.

Emma wasn’t a morning person – sports happened at night – but if waking up next to Killian and his lips brushing across her forehead with a soft _morning_ was part of the equation, she could consider herself a morning person.

Neither one of them talked about what happened the night before. They didn’t have much of a chance. Emma had to be at the hotel by noon – some sort of bridesmaids-only lunch before they started getting ready – and David had shown up at Ingrid’s house minutes before they left to get food with Killian before they made their way to the ceremony.

They didn’t talk about it, but Emma thought about it – all day.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret said sharply, shaking Emma’s shoulders lightly.

“What?”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve got to give me more details.”

“There aren’t any more details, M’s. The almost was the operative word there.”

“How did that happen?”

“We’ve been talking.”

“And making out all over town.”

“Ok, that is not the point.”

“That is exactly the point,” Mary Margaret continued. “You know my _dad_ asked about you?”

“God,” Emma groaned. “About what?”  
  
“About your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you’re almost having sex?!”  
  
“Almost, M’s. Not actually. It’s gotten close though. Twice.” Emma added the last part mostly to just see Mary Margaret’s reaction and her friend did not disappoint. She gasped loudly, drawing a few curious glances from Regina’s other bridesmaids and slammed her hands over her mouth, trying to stay quiet.

“Twice?” Mary Margaret grabbed Emma’s shoulder again and tried to get her to stand up. Emma took the hint and the two of them snuck out of the room, into the hotel’s hallway. It was only when they were by themselves that Emma started talking again.

“Twice,” she repeated. “Last night and then at the docks.”

“Jeez, Emma you didn’t even do that in high school.”

“I know,” Emma responded, making a significant face and leaning up against the wall. “I don’t know, M’s, I think I’m losing my mind. I...I wanted to. Badly.”

“Why didn’t you?”  
  
“He stopped.”

“I can’t imagine you appreciated that very much.”

“Not at first,” Emma agreed. “But, I don’t know, it was nice?”  
  
“That sounded like a question.”

“It was. Nice, I mean. It was nice. He was there when I woke up.”

Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at Emma, who did her best not to roll her eyes. “Did he say anything?”

“There wasn’t time.”  
  
“So you’re freaking out.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because that is patented Emma Swan. You would have been fine if you two just had sex – forget the whole other obstacle of you guys working together – but this thing you’re doing where you’re talking and making out in front of the whole town and falling asleep together – wait, did he sleep in your bed too?”

Emma nodded, not trusting herself to actually talk anymore, Mary Margaret had read her too well.

“You are all in on this Emma and it’s terrifying you.”

Mary Margaret didn’t say anything else, just stared at Emma with her eyebrows raised and a smile on her face. She had won and she knew it.

“Maybe,” Emma admitted, barely saying the word. “That can’t happen though.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I think he might be too.”  
  
If it were possible, Mary Margaret’s eyebrows got even higher and she stared at Emma as if she had never seen her before. “Obviously,” she said.

“What do you mean obviously?”  
  
“Emma, he came to Storybrooke,” Mary Margaret said calmly. “He planned that whole night for you. God, he asked so many questions.”  
  
“He told me that me getting this job changed everything for him.”

“He’s painfully in love with you.”

“You don’t know that.”  
  
“I do.”

Emma opened her mouth to object, but the door next to her swung open and Cora glared at her and Mary Margaret. She heard Mary Margaret suck in her breath quickly and didn’t even have to turn to know she was standing at attention.

“What do you two think you’re doing out here?” Cora snapped. “We’ve got to start taking pictures soon. Emma, is your hair done?”

“I think so.”

“Don't you know?”  
  
“I know so.”

“Then come in,” Cora said, ushering them back into the row with a move that was so regal Emma almost gagged. “We’re about to toast Regina.” Emma glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Mary Margaret, who did her best not to laugh.

All in all, the dress wasn’t bad. In fact, Emma felt _pretty_.

It was, however, very red. Like blood red. And very, very tight at her waist. Emma had never worn a corset before, but she was sure it felt something like this.

She wasn’t comfortable, but she was pretty.

After what felt like an eons worth of photo ops and standing and waiting, Emma and Mary Margaret had been ushered into a waiting area with the rest of Regina’s bridal party and sorted into a single file line.

The wedding planner was a few feet away from, a headset on and clipboard held tightly in her hand as she waited for the _all clear_  before sending bridesmaids down the aisle.

“Stop playing with your hair,” Mary Margaret muttered behind her.

“I’m not.”  
  
“You are. You do it when you’re nervous. Stop it. Everything is fine.”

“Are you a witch?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Or a psychic?”  
  
“No, I just know you. So relax. It’s going to be fine. Now stop talking before you get me in trouble.”

Emma swallowed her laughter and snapped her head up when she heard the wedding planner ushering her forward. She shot Mary Margaret a final encouraging smile and gripped her bouquet tightly before taking a deep breath and walking down the aisle.

She had been told unequivocally that she was _not_ to rush down the aisle and Emma tried to keep a steady pace, but that was easier said than done when the designated groomsmen Regina had paired her with seemed intent on sprinting towards the altar.

“You’re Regina’s friend, aren’t you?” he muttered and Emma glared at him. They’d also explicitly been told not to talk.

“I’m John,” he continued. “Went to school with Robin.”

Emma just nodded, desperate not to get in trouble. Her eyes ran over the small crowd that had assembled for the wedding – it seemed everyone in Storybrooke was there. Ingrid and Elsa were on the far side of the room, sitting at the end of an aisle with matching smiles on their face as they watched Emma avoid her designated groomsmen’s gaze.

Elsa nodded towards John’s arm wrapped through Emma’s and she simply widened her eyes at her sister who seemed to immediately get the message.

David and Killian were sitting next to them – suit and ties on and gazes pointed in two very different directions. Emma was certain David hadn’t even noticed her, his eyes trained on the door waiting for Mary Margaret. She was also certain Killian had _only_ seen her.

It wasn’t fair.

He hadn’t worn a suit to work in months – only when they filmed or he went to a game – and even then, nothing could have prepared Emma for how _good_ he looked. His suit looked like it had been tailored perfectly for him and – somehow – his tie was nearly the same color as Emma’s dress.

Mary Margaret. Emma would have bet her entire salary on it.

Killian caught her staring and smiled wider at her, winking quickly and Emma bit her lip.

“That your boyfriend?” John muttered. How were they still not at the end of the aisle yet?

“You’re not supposed to be talking,” Emma said quickly. “Regina will get mad.”

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“Um,” Emma said, not sure how to answer. It would have been easy – tell John she and Killian were dating and get him off her back. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, the uncertainty of the last few hours crashing over her like a wave.

“Ah, not your boyfriend,” John said, smiling as they – finally – reached the end of the aisle. “Well, save me a dance, huh?”

Emma did her best not to roll her eyes – that would really get her in trouble – and stood silently in her designated place near the altar, waiting patiently for Mary Margaret to join her.

She could feel Killian staring at her still. She ignored that too. Almost.

Emma glanced back over to him, fighting off several different emotions all at once. She had been right. He was still staring.

And smirking.

And absolutely overwhelming her.

Mary Margaret joined Emma, standing just a few inches behind her, and the music changed as the entire audience stood in near-perfect unison. Regina looked _gorgeous_.

Emma still didn’t understand why she was a bridesmaid, couldn’t quite comprehend what she was doing in her own vaguely ridiculous over-the-top dress, but at that moment, she was simply happy she got to witness someone who looked so happy she could have floated down the aisle.

The dress must have been heavy, Emma thought, but Regina didn’t seem bothered by the several pounds of  fabric she was wearing. It worked. She looked around her as she walked up the aisle and smiled at a few of the faces as she went.

“The Queen descends upon her subjects and offers a kind smile as she passes,” Emma mumbled.

“Stop,” Mary Margaret said quickly. “It’s nice.”

“You’re a sap.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder as Mary Margaret shrugged quickly. Regina had reached the end of the aisle and Robin stepped forward towards her, pulling the veil away from her face and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

He didn’t look too bad himself, but mostly Emma couldn’t stop staring at how _happy_ he looked. Like this really was the best day of his life.

 _True love and all that_ , she remembered Killian saying the night before and, for a moment at least, Emma believed in it all one hundred percent.

It didn’t take long. Emma was certain Regina would have wanted the ceremony to last forever, but she supposed there was the reception to be the center of attention. They said a few words, promised to love each other for the rest of their lives and forever and then they kissed.

It wasn’t one of those blow-you-away kiss, chock-full of passion, but it was _nice_ and Emma would have been a fool not to realize how much Regina and Robin loved each other.

She chanced a glance back at Killian as the newly-married couple turned back down the aisle hand in hand and found him smiling again.

“Hey,” he mouthed, widening his eyes at her slightly. Emma made a face, still certain she wasn’t allowed to talk.

She turned down the aisle, taking the outstretched arm of her designated groomsman again and saw Killian narrow his eyes.

“Nice wedding,” John said, not even bothering to keep his voice low anymore.

“Yup.”

“So did you think about that dance anymore?”

“Didn’t really get a chance,” Emma muttered, reaching the end of the aisle much quicker than she anticipated.

The rest of the bridal party was mulling around the entrance to the hall, trying to get out of the way of the other guests who had been ushered out so they could change the space into the perfect reception. Emma felt Mary Margaret walk up next to her – trying to ditch her own designated groomsman as well – and heard the photographer meekly trying to herd a dozen 20-somethings into a line that was close enough to take photos.

Regina and Robin couldn’t seem to stop kissing.

And Emma was worried about _her_ being the talk of the town.

It took a few well-placed coughs from Robin’s best man to break up the couple and a few more directions from the photographer to get them in line, but the group finally managed to pose for the necessary shots.

“So, Emma,” John said, somehow still standing next to her. “About that dance.”

“What about it?”

That took him down a peg. He blinked several times before flashing a – what Emma assumed was supposed to be charming – smile and taking a step closer to her. “The one I was interested in.”

Emma opened her mouth to shoot back some sort of vaguely sarcastic comment when she felt a very firm hand wrap around her waist and a soft laugh in her ear as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was watching.

“What exactly is it you were interested in?” Killian asked, standing close to Emma and staring at the designated groomsman.

“Killian,” Emma said, turning slightly into his arm and smiling genuinely. “Hey.”

“I was looking for you, Swan.”  
  
“We had to take pictures.” Emma made a significant face towards John and then nodded towards David and Mary Margaret a few feet away from her.

“Of course.”

“You’re the boyfriend aren’t you?” John asked, the soul of tact.

“Something like that.”

Emma raised her eyebrows at him and widened her eyes slightly. Killian just rolled his eyes at her, the threat of a smirk pulling on his mouth.

“So I guess the dance is out then,” designated groomsman continued. Emma nodded. “Ah, well,” he said. “What about your sister?”

“Leave my sister alone,” Emma gaped, eyes still wide – but for a totally different reason.

“Come on love,” Killian said softly, glaring at John again. “I told Ingrid I’d bring you back.” Emma nodded again and settled into his side, falling into step easily.

They walked a few steps towards the other side of the hall – Ingrid and Elsa well within sight – when Killian pulled her up short, almost making Emma trip over her heels. She gasped slightly, pulling the bottom of her dress up at the last second so she wouldn’t inadvertently rip anything and threw him a questioning glance.

“What’s your deal?” she asked, pushing her heel back in her shoe.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look today?”

“Not yet,” Emma answered quickly, trying to keep her tone light. No more emotion. No more _meaningful_ conversations. Just friends. Who almost have sex. In her childhood bedroom. She could do this. She _could_ . “Unless you count Mary Margaret.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Then, no, not yet.”

“You look beautiful, Swan,” he said with so much sincerity in his voice that Emma actually almost started to cry on the spot. She ducked her eyes, staring at her shoes for a moment, until he reached up slowly to put two fingers under her chin and force her gaze up.

“You like the dress?” she asked.

 _Lame_. God, so lame. So incredibly lame. So unbelievably underwhelming. Emma cringed slightly and Killian laughed under his breath, eyes squinting slightly as he looked at her.

“I like the dress, love. A lot.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, you know,” she mumbled, tugging on his tie and earning herself another low laugh.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”

“What exactly was that guy asking about? Aside from trying to dance with your sister?”

“Oh,” Emma said, surprised by the sudden change of course the conversation had taken. “He was my designated groomsman and seemed to be under the impression that required some kind of dance. With me.”

Killian lowered his eyebrows and made some kind of noise that sounded softly like disbelief. “What?” Emma asked, teasing him slightly as she reached her hand up to it into the bottom of his hair. “That so hard to believe?”

“Of course not,” he said quickly. “Did you not hear the part where I told you how beautiful you looked? The hard to believe part, however, is that anyone at this entirely over-the-top wedding would believe you’d have the opportunity to dance with anyone who wasn’t me.”  
  
“Excuse me?”

“Swan,” he said patiently. “Do you think I would come up here all the way to the charming, but rather far from New York town of Storybrooke, Maine to attend this wedding and not dance with you?”  
  
“I had hoped there would be other benefits,” she said, raising her eyebrows quickly and standing up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. So that whole _friends_ idea was going really well.

“You’re distracting me from my point, love,” he mumbled against her lips. Emma could feel the stares around her, knew people were already talking again and would be asking Ingrid even more questions during the reception.

She didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, smiling at him and his absurdly blue eyes. “Go on.”

“You know I’m a very good dancer.”

“Stop that,” she said. “Is that a joke?”  
  
“I would never joke about something as serious as dancing at Regina’s reception, Swan.”

“You would do exactly that.”

Killian shrugged. “Ok, fair, but not when you’re also involved.”

Emma bit her lip tightly and did her best to remain standing up straight. “You’re serious.”  
  
“I am.”

“How?”

“What do you mean how?”  
  
“How do you know how to dance?”  
  
“Oh,” he said, nodding his head. “Baseball.”  
  
“Baseball?”

“These one word answers, Swan.”

“Sorry,” she said, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “I just don’t understand what’s happening.”

“You’ve heard the story before, love. Sports teams sent to dance class so they can learn footwork and coordination and whatnot. I was good. I haven’t done this in awhile, but it’s all muscle memory right?”

“God, you really are good at everything aren’t you?” Emma asked, stunned slightly.

“I don’t think so.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“One word,” he pointed out, squeezing his hand slightly around her waist.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You need to work on your self confidence, you know. I think you might be good at everything.”  
  
“And as previously mentioned, I don’t. In fact, I’m fairly certain there are some things I’m not good at at all.”  
  
“Such as?” She could see his Adam’s apple bob slowly as he swallowed and Killian shut his eyes lightly. “Killian?” she continued, trailing her fingers over his.

“You,” he said quickly. “I’m worried I’m not good with you.”

Someday Emma was going to say something or do something and Killian Jones would believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t nearly as worthless as he had come to think he was. But she wasn’t good at talking.

She had never been good at talking.

She was better at _doing_.

So she stood back on tiptoes, yanked on his blazer again and kissed him in front of all of Storybrooke. Killian pulled her tightly against his chest – she almost tripped over her heels again – and Emma could feel his tongue dancing against her lower lip.

Then she heard a very pointed cough behind her.

“Guys,” Elsa said, arms crossed and a rather bemused smile on her face.

“Hey El,” Emma answered, pulling away slightly and leaning against Killian’s arms – both of which were still firmly wrapped around her waist. “What’s up?”  
  
“Were you ever going to come and talk to me and Ingrid or just stand in the middle of the road and make out with your boyfriend?”

Emma shot her sister a glare – people needed to stop calling Killian that. Elsa just raised her eyebrows even higher – practically halfway up her forehead – and made a face at Emma. “People are talking,” she warned.

“I realize that.”

“And?”  
  
“And what?”

Elsa pursed her lips, like she was suddenly deciding something, and nodded once. “Go say hi to Ingrid, she wants to tell you how pretty you look. And you do look pretty.”

“Thanks, El,” Emma said. “We’ll be there soon.”  
  
“Good.”

Killian still hadn’t dropped his arms and Emma spun back around so she was facing him again. “Did I properly answer your question before?”

“Did I ask a question?”  
  
“Well, more of a statement. You made a statement and I tried to prove you wrong. Did I?”

He smiled at her, the effect of it making his eyes seem to _sparkle_ – God she needed to stop – and nodded slowly. “For now, Swan.”  
  
“Well next time you’re feeling particularly low on self confidence, let me know and I’ll do what I can to help, ok?”  
  
“Noted, love.”

“Let’s go dance.”

* * *

Emma was staring. She knew it. Mary Margaret sitting next her knew it. She just couldn’t stop. If she stopped staring, she’d starting thinking and _overthinking_ and she didn’t want to do that.

So she stared, doing her best not to sigh over the fact that Regina had dictated her bridesmaids sit with the wedding party and had all but exiled David and Killian to a table in the corner of the banquet hall.

Although, Emma argued with herself, he didn’t look too upset.

He laughed at something David said and leaned back against his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and arms crossed in front of his chest.

Emma’s mind was spinning. She closed her eyes lightly and tried to keep her breathing regular. He needed to stop these emotional revelations.

Or, rather, he needed to stop these emotional revelations that included how terrible he seemed to believe he was, how undeserving he was for anyone to like him, to support him. _Anything_.

Emma considered taking on that job for a moment and felt her breathing hitch.

“I can hear you thinking,” Mary Margaret muttered, jabbing one of the potatoes on her plate.

“I knew you were a witch.”

“Hysterical. I have a suggestion for you.”

“If you tell me to not overthink this I might stab you with this very fancy silverware.”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “That’s not what I was going to say at all. Well, not really. I was going to say don’t overthink it tonight. Have fun. At least for tonight. Then overthink it tomorrow.”

“That just seems like delaying the inevitable.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said patiently, turning to her and staring straight into her eyes. “I don’t know how many times I can explain the way Killian looks at you. Like you’re _everything_. I know it’s going to be tough and I know you haven’t even discussed the fact that he might kind of sort of be your boss, but just for tonight, have some fun.”

Emma bit her lip and pondered her choices. Mary Margaret brought up a good point. She could give herself tonight. She could worry tomorrow.

She should worry tomorrow.

“Maybe,” she said evasively.

Mary Margaret just sighed. “You have been happier these last few days then I have seen you in _years_ . You have been so _you_.”

She was right.

And it terrified Emma to her very core.

The music changed slightly and Emma’s head jerked towards the band in the corner of the room. Regina and Robin stood up, a few feet away from each other and started kissing – again – before making their way to the center of the dance floor.

 _First dance_.

Emma groaned and earned herself a pointed glance from Mary Margaret. “Stop, it’s nice.”  
  
“You’re a sap,” Emma said, repeating her words from earlier.

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to continue her scolding – treating Emma like one of her third graders – but David appeared in the nick of time, holding his hand out. “Come on babe, let’s dance” he said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

“You’ve been gone for 45 minutes, David,” Emma pointed out, but with a small smile on her face.

“That’s awfully negative, Swan,” Killian said, coming up behind her and placing his hands lightly on her shoulders.

She leaned back, glancing up at him and rolled her eyes. “Not negative,” she objected. “David and Mary Margaret are just notoriously adorable.”

“It’s kind of nice.”

Emma turned in her chair, leaning her arms over the top and looked him appraisingly. “I’m not saying it’s not.”

Killian looked at her for a beat and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to figure something out, but he blinked once and the look was gone. Instead, he held his hand over the chair, raising his eyebrows slowly.

“What?” Emma asked, staring at his hand.

“I thought we covered this. The dancing?”  
  
“You seriously know how to do all of this?”  
  
“I seriously know how to do all of this,” he promised, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Emma’s. “And in about five minutes you will too. There’s just one rule, pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

Emma stood up – hand still in his – and smiled at him, following him on the floor.

He wasn’t lying, he really was very good at this. _God_. He was good at everything. Emma felt like lightheaded and leaned her head on his shoulder as Killian’s hand lingered on her waist.

“So, did I pass the test, Swan?” he asked, eyes bright and a small smile on his face.

“Was this a test?”  
  
“You tell me.”

Emma shook her head. “Nah. Even if there was a test, you probably would have passed just by getting on the train here. And maybe extra credit for carrying the bags.”

“Ah, well, I always was about extra credit.”  
  
“That so?” she laughed.

“Absolutely.”

His hand tightened around the fabric of her dress and for the second time in the last 24 hours Emma had all kinds of thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking – like how she could get out of this reception without anyone noticing.

So, instead, she kept talking.

“You know there’s no test, right?”

“I do,” Killian laughed.

“And that this is good?”  
  
He didn’t answer right away and Emma looked up to see his eyebrows pulled low and his eyes narrowed at her. “Good?” he repeated.

Emma took a deep breath and bit her lip, dragging her hands off his shoulders until they were both resting flatly against the front of his chest. “Listen,” she said seriously. “Just don’t think. Tonight, just be here, ok? With me?”

Emma whispered the final two words, looking down at her shoes and pulled her lip behind her teeth. Well, there it was. _With me_. If Killian could just be there with Emma for one night, to let her mind stop for one night, maybe everything else would just fall into place.

Maybe she wouldn’t run away.

Killian stared at her, eyes wide with as much obvious emotion as Emma knew was coursing through her system as well. “I’m here, love,” he said softly, raising his left hand and running his fingers across her chin.

“You want to get out of here?”

The smirk seemed to appear on his face in slow motion and Emma pushed her feet into the floor so she wouldn’t kiss him in front of all of Storybrooke – again. “You won’t get yelled at?”  
  
“Regina is far too busy making out with her husband to notice. Let me just tell Ingrid.”

Killian nodded once and smiled at her again. “I’ll meet you outside.”

* * *

”You’re leaving aren’t you?” Ingrid said as soon as she saw Emma walking towards the table.

“How did you know that?”

“Your cheeks are flushed, you’re practically running over here and I just saw Killian walk outside.”

“Maybe you should be the journalist.”  
  
“Emma,” Ingrid said, tilting her head and looking at her like she was 15. “It’s fine. Regina won’t notice. You’ve filled your bridesmaids duties. You even danced. I think you’re allowed to leave. Plus, I think everyone in this entire town is here, so you’ll have almost all of Storybrooke to yourself.”  
  
“That was kind of the plan.”  
  
“Oh, there was a plan was there?”

Emma shrugged. “Can I have your keys?”

“To the house?”

“The store.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes, but nodded reaching into her bag and depositing a keyring in Emma’s outstretched hand. “If you go all the way in the back,” she said, “there’s dark chocolate there. I made it earlier this week for you to have.”

Emma smiled and squeezed Ingrid’s hand. “Thanks,” she whispered, trying to infuse as much emotion as she possibly could into one word, and reaching down to kiss her cheek. “You’re the best, you know.”  
  
“I do. Now go before anyone else sees you run away.”

Emma nodded once, catching Elsa’s eye as she moved towards the door – she totally wasn’t running. Her sister moved her head towards the door, as if encouraging her to go, and held up her crossed fingers at her. Good luck.

He was leaning against the wall of the building, just to the left of the door, feet crossed and hands in his pockets. Emma walked up slowly, trying to burn the memory of Killian Jones standing in Storybrooke, suit on and surrounded by trees filled with twinkling lights into the deepest parts of her memory.

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand out of his pocket gently and making him jump slightly. “Jeez, Swan,” he mumbled. “Make some noise before you attack next time.”

“That was hardly an attack,” she argued. “You good?’

He nodded once and twined his fingers through hers. “Yeah. You sure you want to go? I mean you don’t have to leave your family.”  
  
Emma was shaking her head before he had even finished talking and he widened his eyes at her as she held up the keyring still in her hand. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Ingrid’s keys.”  
  
“To?”  
  
“The store.”

“The store?”

“Ice cream,” she said simply. “We’re going to get ice cream.”

Killian laughed, pulling Emma’s arm closer to him so she was only inches away. “You seem as if you have a plan, Swan.”

“I do.” He just raised his eyebrows at her and Emma continued. “Well, it’s only fair right, you figured out stuff before. And now we’ve got most of Storybrooke to ourselves. A tour didn’t seem out of the question.”  
  
“A tour with ice cream?”  
  
“A tour is worthless without ice cream.”

“Lead on, love.”

It was easier getting into the store with keys, Emma thought as she unlocked the door and flicked on the light switch. It hadn’t changed much since she had worked there and Emma smiled as she pushed up the counter slightly, walking towards the back room.

“This is Ingrid’s?” Killian asked, looking around the building, which was decked out in blue and white and as many photos of ice cream as possible.

“Yup,” Emma replied, nodding towards him to follow her. “She bought it a few years after I got here and right before Elsa showed up. In fact, aside from the waitressing, this was my first real job. I’m very good at scooping ice cream.”

Killian smiled at her and peered at one of the framed photos on the wall, staring at the corner. “Elsa took these?” he asked.

“Yup. Remember how I said Ingrid was good about letting us decorate our rooms? Well, that kind of extended to the store too. El’s a ridiculously good photographer. So a few years ago when Ingrid wanted to redo the inside of the store, she had El take pictures.”

“Ingrid sounds like the kind of parent most teenagers dream of.”

“She was,” Emma agreed. “But she was also pretty good at making sure we knew the lines too. She’s always been our friend, but Ingrid wasn’t going to ever take any crap from anyone ever. Especially not me and El.”

“I don’t think you did much of that, Swan.”

“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong,” she said, standing up on tip toes in the back room to pull down the container of chocolate ice cream. “I can be pretty angry when I want to be. Mostly bitter, but also pretty angry.”

Killian shrugged. “Can you hand me that bag over there,” she said, pointing towards the shelf behind him that was chock full of pre-made waffle cones. He turned around, grabbing it and handing it to Emma as she walked back out towards the counter.

“Prepare to be impressed,” Emma said as she opened the ice cream and scooped two perfectly sculpted cones, handing them off to Killian as she put everything back in the room.

“You have quite a talent, Swan,” he said when she came back, the threat of laughter obvious in his voice.

“Well, if this journalism thing doesn’t pan out, at least I know I’ve got a back-up plan.”

“So prepared.”

“Almost always,” she said, tugging on his hand as they walked back out of the store. Emma turned around to lock the door and Killian was immediately behind her, his whole body pressed up against her back. She had to do her best not to sink back against him.

“Almost?” he whispered in her ear.

“Almost.”

She spun around, trying to make sure she didn’t hit him with ice cream, and smiled. Emma knew it was coming, so she wasn’t sure why she all but stopped breathing when he leaned down to kiss her again. He tasted like chocolate and she could feel the nervous energy behind his movements.

They must have made quite a sight, she thought suddenly, still dressed to the wedding-nines, holding their respective ice cream cones as far away from each other as possible, while still trying to push their bodies together up against the door to Ingrid’s store.

He pulled away before she did and Emma gaped at him. “God,” she muttered. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever that was,” she said, moving her hand quickly through the small space that now existed between them. “I can’t think when you do that.”  
  
“That’s kind of the point.”

Emma made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh and a complete swoon and slide away from him slightly, moving towards the street and trying to keep her face even. “You ready for your tour?”

“Feeling reflective are we?”

She shrugged, a wave of insecurity sweeping over her. “I just thought it might be nice. I mean everyone’s going to be at that reception all night. And I mean, we don’t really get a lot of time by ourselves. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Killian took a step towards her, cutting her off with a quick kiss and raised eyebrows. “That’s not what I said.”

He was giving her an out. Emma bit her lip and shook her head.

“I’m just trying to even the playing field a bit,” she said, mostly to her shoes. “You’ve spent the whole weekend talking, now it’s my turn.”

“Alright, Swan,” he nodded. “C’mon. I’d love to learn more about your beginnings.”  
  
It didn’t take long to make their way through the entirety of downtown Storybrooke. There wasn’t really all that much downtown to begin with. They did, however, commit a bit of breaking and entering.

Emma had always been very good at picking locks and Killian stared at her slightly while she pulled out one bobby pin from her hair and, very easily, unlocked the door to city hall.

“What?” she asked, smiling as she pushed the bobby pin back in her hair.

“You really are a bit of a pirate aren’t you?”

She laughed, smiling wider and rolling her eyes. “We’re not going to steal anything. Isn’t that a basic requirement of piracy?”

“Pillaging and plundering, I think. This mostly seems to fall in the pillaging category.”

“Well I don’t intend to plunder anything. I just wanted to show you something.”

She pulled him down the hallway, turning a few times to reach the reception area and the framed story on the wall. Killian stared at it for a moment before glancing over his shoulder and _beaming_ at her. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

Emma nodded.

“Well, the second one, I never sent the first one,” she said softly.

“Swan…”

“No, stop, this wasn’t supposed to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know how important this job was. To me and to everyone. I meant it, this changed everything.”

Emma had been leaning on the long counter that separated the waiting room from the rest of the office, but that didn’t last long. She felt his hands on her hips and realized quickly that Killian had lifted her up onto the counter so she was just above his eye level.

“Everything,” he repeated, nodding towards her and Emma’s pulse thudded for a moment as he stared at her.

She reached forward and pulled on his blazer, forcing him to take a step closer to her and he settled into her space as she tried to move some her dress out of the way. Emma pulled her hand up, running her hand up his jaw and feeling the scruff underneath it, before pushing her fingers into the back of his hair and kissing him.

He groaned into her mouth and Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying, again, to burn this moment into her brain. _God_ , he was good at this. She could feel his jaw moving underneath her hand and Killian’s fingers graced over the back of her dress, brushing over fabric until they hit skin.

He kept moving forward – trying to touch as much of her as humanly possible – and made a noise that vaguely resembled frustration when he ran into the counter. Emma pulled the dress up more, moving her legs around his waist and tugging on his blazer again, pushing her hands under the fabric and skimming her fingers along his collar.

Killian’s hands, meanwhile, were doing work of their own, falling down her back and across her hips before finding their way up her now dress-free legs. Emma’s head was spinning.

She pushed forward, opening her mouth and tugging on his lip slightly. That worked another groan out of him. Emma smiled against his lips and pulled her hands away from his hair, pulling on his belt slightly.

That seemed to wake him up.

Killian’s hands dropped from her legs and landed on top of hers. He squeezed her hands slightly and pulled them away from the offending piece of clothing, breaking away from her as his shoulders moved up and down quickly, desperate to get his breathing back in order.

“Swan,” he said, his voice so low, it sent chills down Emma’s spine. “You’ve got to stop, love.”

“Why?”  
  
“Why?” he chuckled back at her. “Because this was not part of the plan.”

“No?” She felt that same insecurity sweep over her and reached up quickly to tug on the dress, pulling it back over her legs. Killian sighed and ran a hand through his hair before reaching out to bring Emma’s hands back in his.

“Not like this.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Killian took a deep breath – his shoulders moving with the effort – and tried to smile at her. “Not like this,” he repeated, eyes not meeting hers.

Emma ducked her head, forcing him to look at her and smiled. “You want to go home?” she asked, the words sounding almost _normal_ as she said that. That was unexpected.

“I’d like that,” he said, pulling her towards him and back on the floor, before kissing the top of her head softly.

* * *

The house was quiet. And dark. And vaguely intimidating.

They had walked the few blocks back from City Hall in near silence, the only sound Emma’s heels clacking on the sidewalk and Killian’s even breathing next to her.

For someone who almost just had sex with one of his staff writers in the reception area of the Storybrooke City Hall, he seemed unnervingly at ease.

Emma turned on one of the lights and tossed her keys on the table next to the couch, turning around and looking at Killian expectantly. He met her gaze quickly, but kept his face even as he shrugged out of his blazer and laid it over the back of the couch.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment – almost daring him to talk. He didn’t.

He blinked once, took a few steps forward and then pulled her towards him and kissed her – hard.

Emma gasped slightly as her feet trailed along the carpet, but he didn’t give her much of a chance to do anything else. Her hand reached up to wrap around his neck and he tilted his head even more, wrapping his left hand dangerously low around her hips.

Killian kept walking, pushing Emma back towards the hallway and up against the wall. His hand was in her hair and Emma grabbed hold of the back of his shirt, like she was using it to stay upright.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she mumbled against him when he pulled away slightly to take a breath.

Killian narrowed his eyes – which had gotten _impossibly_ dark – and stared at her. “What would have possibly given you that idea?”  
  
Emma shrugged and tried to focus on anything that was not his hands – which had started moving, seemingly of their own accord – up and down her sides. “I just assumed...since you didn’t...before...I…”

“Swan,” he said softly. “I never once said I didn’t want to.”

“No?” Emma scanned back over the last 24 hours of her life and realized, begrudgingly, he was right.

“No,” he repeated, moving his hips closer to her as if to prove his point. “I did, however, say that I wouldn’t keep you up the night before this wedding with your mother and your sister down the hall and that I wouldn’t do anything on the counter in City Hall. There’s a difference, love.”

He smirked at her and Emma felt lightheaded again – that seemed to be a trend that evening. “We’re by ourselves now,” she whispered and she _swore_ Killian’s eyes glinted at her.

“Yuh huh,” he muttered, pushing her up against the wall again and capturing her mouth, before adding, “and what would you like to do about that?”

“I think we should get out of the hallway.”

Emma slipped underneath his arm and moved a few feet to her right, turning towards the stairs and doing her best not to trip up them. She knew Killian wasn’t far behind – could practically _feel_ his stare boring into the back of her head – and bit back a laugh that may have been a signal of impending insanity.

 _Just tonight. Just tonight. Just tonight_. Let me have this for just tonight, Emma thought silently, pushing her bedroom door open.

She jumped slightly when Killian shut it behind him and spun around to look at him, knowing her face betrayed every single emotion she was feeling.

“Emma?” he said softly and _God_ , that wasn’t fair at all. He took a few steps closer to her, toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“You don’t have to do this.”

He was giving her an out – again, but just like before Emma couldn’t come up with a reason not to. Well, no, that was a lie. She could come up with a dozen reasons not to, least of all being that they had to take an eight-hour train ride back to New York the next day and then go to work together on Monday.

But she didn’t care.

He had called her Emma again and he was smiling at her, giving her an out and trying to prove that he was a _gentleman_ . And Emma was overwhelmed. So she couldn’t think. She just had to _do_.

“I want to,” Emma said, stepping out of her heels and walking closer to him.

“I’m going to need that once more, love.”  
  
“I want to,” she repeated. “I want you.”

She had barely finished the sentence before he was kissing her again and if Emma had thought the first few times they had done this were good, it was nothing compared to right now. He was everywhere all at once and Emma couldn’t think through the fog that was surrounding her.

She reached her hands up, trying – for the second straight night – to get the buttons on his shirt undone and Emma felt Killian laugh as she – for the second straight night – struggled again.

It only took a few tries before she managed the seemingly impossible task and she pushed the fabric over his shoulders, hearing it land softly on the floor behind him.

His hands hadn’t stopped moving the entire time and at first Emma was certain he was trying to memorize her entire body, but then she heard his groan of frustration and pulled back, staring at him questioningly.

“What’s the matter?”

“Where the hell have they hidden the zipper on this dress?”

The mildly-insane laughter that had been bubbling in Emma throughout the night broke free and she laughed loudly, pulling on Killian’s hand towards her side and running his fingers along the stitching. “There,” she said. “It’s so no one can see it.”

“Or take it off apparently.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know if that was really their first goal when making the dress. You want me to do it?”

He shot her a look and Emma closed her mouth quickly. “I’ve got it,” he said, tugging on the zipper. “Ha,” he said proudly when he had yanked it all the way down and Emma did her best not to laugh at him again.

He pulled on the straps of the dress, forcing them over her shoulders and letting the fabric fall around her waist. Emma tugged a bit more, all but yanking it over her hips, until the dress pooled around her ankles.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with wide eyes and a small smile on the corners of his mouth and Emma did her best to not feel self conscious. “Anything to add, Cap?” she said. Maybe if she kept her voice sarcastic he wouldn’t notice how nervous she was.

Killian shook his head slowly, reaching his hand out to skim just under her bra and chuckling under his breath when he noticed the goosebumps.

“Killian,” Emma said slowly, words stuttering slightly as he continued to trace his fingers along her skin.

“God, Swan,” he muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself. “You look beautiful.”

“I’m not wearing the dress anymore,” she said softly, silently chastising herself for ruining the moment.

“I know.”

She made some sort of noise, not quite certain she was actually breathing anymore, and did her best not to simply collapse into him. He didn’t give her a chance to worry about that though, turning her on the spot and pulling her towards the bed. Emma’s hands reached up towards that _stupid_ belt again, but this time Killian didn’t do anything to stop her.

In fact, he helped her, moving his hands over her fingers and yanking the belt out of his pants loops, lifting his hips up slightly off the mattress to make it easier. Emma all but yanked his pants off, determined to get Killian on even-clothing ground with her, and heard him laugh with the force of her movements.

“Relax, Swan,” he said against her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m just trying to make sure everything is all even in the clothing department here,” she answered in between kisses. She needed to stop talking.

“Then by all means, don’t let me stop you.” He kicked the pants further down until they moved over his ankles and nudged them onto the floor. They had left quite a trail of clothing in their wake.

Killian stared at her for a moment again, looking up at her with the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen in her entire life. She blinked. Damn.

“Still good, love?” he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

“I swear if you ask me that one more time…”

He kissed her silent again, arching up slightly to meet her and Emma rolled her hips over him, earning herself something that vaguely resembled a growl.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the clothing to be gone – they were on very even footing then – and Killian’s hand trailed along the inside of her thigh, making Emma stop breathing for a moment.

“Killian,” she whined, moving her whole body again in an attempt to prove what she wanted.

“You’re not very patient are you?”

“Not when I know what I want.”

He looked at her, smiling again, and wrapped his hands around her waist to flip them over. He leaned back on his heels for a moment, pointedly ignoring Emma’s sound of disappointment, and grabbed his pants off the floor, fumbling with them for a moment until he found his wallet.

“Boy scout,” Emma said as he pulled the condom out and Killian just glared at her.

“Hardly.”

Emma made a face and reached forward, grabbing his hand in an attempt to bring him closer to her. Killian stuttered for a moment and Emma saw his Adam’s apple bob again as his eyes zeroed in on her fingers. She was holding his left hand – tightly – and Emma’s stomach dropped.

“Hey,” she said softly, leaning up on her elbows to look at him. “It’s ok.”

Killian was still staring at her hand, scars visible underneath Emma’s fingers, when she grazed her hand along the side of his jaw, making him shiver. “It’s ok,” she repeated. “It’s just you.”

That got his attention back in full force and Emma gasped slightly against his mouth when he moved again, kissing her quickly. She shut her eyes lightly, trying to stay focused simply on how she felt and not what she thought, and Emma heard the wrapper open before she saw Killian move slightly above her.

And then he was there. Everywhere. All at once.

He mumbled her name against her jaw, her throat, her lips, as if he couldn’t stop saying it, like it was keeping him centered. She knew she was moving and making noise, but she couldn’t come up with a single coherent thought. It was just him.

Everywhere.

Emma realized somewhere in the minutes afterwards that _this_ was how it was all supposed to be. To feel him there and next to her, arm wrapped tightly around her waist and hand – scars and all – resting on her skin.

She pulled his hand up slowly, ignoring his questioning glance and slowly kissed over every single scar – the one that ran in between his middle finger, the one across his wrist, the slightly crooked one across his thumb.

“Swan,” he muttered softly, pulling her head towards him and kissing her again as if it was the only thing he ever wanted to do again.

Emma didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t ignore the small fire that had taken root in her stomach, certain of only one thing – she had fallen head over heels in love with Killian Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS. Have this monster, emotion-filled chapter. This is so long and I hooooope the payoff was good because I've NEVER written anything like that before and this was vaguely terrifying to post. As always, I appreciate every click, comment and kudos. You guys are the best.


	29. Chapter 29

She woke up before he did. 

That was good. 

Emma blinked blearily at her ceiling and wondered what to do next. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be next to him – he had pulled boxers back on at some point in the middle of the night, but that didn’t really count for much when she could still feel how warm his skin was next to hers. 

She couldn’t want  _ this _ . 

Emma had allowed herself that one night and now it was morning and she couldn’t quite cope. She pulled herself out of his arms, doing her best not to wake him up, and grabbed a pair of shorts and t-shirt off the top of her dresser. Emma cracked open the door, sliding past it before it creaked too loudly and practically ran down the stairs towards the kitchen. 

She was very good at running. 

Elsa was standing in the kitchen when Emma skidded to a stop on the linoleum. “So,” she said pointedly.

“So what?”  
  
“So what happened?”  
  
“Nothing,” Emma lied quickly. Everything. Everything had happened and Emma had walked out of the room. 

“You’re a great big liar and you know it.”

“That’s not true,” Emma said, but even she knew how much her voice had already betrayed her. 

“You going to tell me or not?”  
  
Emma walked towards Elsa, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, and leaned against the counter. “No,” she said decidedly. 

“Must be bad.”

“It wasn’t. It’s not. It’s complicated.”

Elsa let out a low whistle and bumped her hip into Emma’s. “You and complicated don’t really get along.”

“No,” Emma said. “We don’t.”

“You going to run?”

“Probably.”

“You’re going to break his heart, you know.”

“That’s not true,” Emma argued, more with herself than with Elsa. 

Killian would be fine. No he wouldn't. She didn’t believe it for a moment. Not after this weekend. Not after  _ everything _ . Not after he had told her about Liam and Milah and danced with her and all those stolen kisses that made Emma believe  _ just maybe _ true love actually did exist. 

Then she had woken up.

And it felt like the walls in her room were closing in on her and her lungs were burning from a complete inability to actually breathe and she didn't do _this_. She was drowning and they weren't even close to making out at the docks anymore. 

Love wasn't for her. It wasn't. 

True love existed for other people. For David and Mary Margaret and Regina and Robin. Not for Emma Swan. Not for the orphan no one really wanted. 

She loved Killian Jones with every fiber of her being, but Emma wasn't going to leave anything to chance. And if there was a chance – even a small one – that this wouldn’t end perfectly, she was going to walk away before it could all blow up in her face. 

Elsa scoffed, jerking Emma out of her thoughts, and stared at her. “Well,” she said slowly. “If not his, then you’re going to break your own heart.”

Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth. Her throat suddenly felt very dry. Elsa just looked sad. 

“Why, Emma?” she asked, turning slightly so she was standing in front of her. 

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you let him in? He came here with you!”

“He’s my friend.”

“That is, without a doubt, the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

“I’m serious.”

“And you’re cool with that? Have you seen the way you are around him? You’re... _ you _ . You’re happy. I don’t understand why you won’t let yourself have that.”

Emma’s shoulders dropped and she dragged one foot along the floor. “It won’t work,” she muttered. 

“What won’t?”  
  
“Him. Me. Us. It won’t work. It was a mistake to bring him here.”

“You can’t possibly think that.”

“Maybe.”

“Jeez, Emma.” Elsa stamped her foot slightly and Emma gaped at her. Her sister didn’t get this angry about anything. “I’m going to shake you.”

“El, I can’t. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You are in love with him,” Elsa hissed, pausing between every word for added emphasis. “I can see it every time you look at him. Every time he brushes your hand or calls you  _ Swan _ . You light up like a Christmas tree.”

She was right – Emma knew she was right. And that was exactly why this had to end. Today. They couldn’t work together. Everyone would say the only reason she was getting stories was because Emma had shown Killian a particularly good time the night before. 

“You’ve done some stupid things before Emma, but this is hand down, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. You could be happy.”

“That’s not how it works.”  
  
“It’s very easy, you just have to trust him.”

“I do trust him,” Emma said, the words coming easily. 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it. You’re fucking this up, Emma. I’m serious.”  
  
“El…”

Elsa just shook her head and walked around Emma, that same, sad look still on her face. Emma heard the footsteps coming down the stairs and knew it was Killian before he had even turned the corner. Her stomach felt like it was at her feet and her throat was tight. Emma turned around, desperate to put this off as long as possible.

“Swan?”

Emma took a deep breath and tried to remember all the reasons this  _ wouldn’t  _ work. It wouldn’t. It couldn't. “Hey,” she mumbled, back still towards him. 

“Where did you go?” His footsteps started again and he was just a few inches behind her. Emma flinched when he ran his fingers along her side and Killian’s breath didn’t sound nearly as even anymore. 

“I’ve been here,” Emma mumbled, turning on the sink and filling a coffee mug with water.  

“So I can see.”

His hand was still on her side, fingers splayed out around her waist, and Emma could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. She bit her lip and slammed down on the faucet with entirely too much force.   “Swan?” he repeated. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said, turning quickly, eyes widening of their own accord as she met his gaze. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, his eyes bright – like he had been excited to wake up – but Emma could see the wariness there too. 

“You’re a very bad liar.”  
  
“Which would be good information if I were lying, but I’m not.”

“Alright,” he said quickly, stepping back from her as if he had been burned. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, but I can wait.”  
  
“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Fine.”  
  
“Fine.”

She could see the walls going back up as clear as if they were actually being built between them. Killian stared at her for a moment, rubbing the back of his hand. That was the first time Emma noticed him do that all weekend. 

It was enough to almost make her cry. 

“We’ve got that brunch thing at 12,” Emma said softly. “And then our train is at 3.”

Killian nodded once, hands in pockets as he rolled back on his heels. “I’ll be ready to go.”  
  
An hour later and – good to his word – Killian was ready to go, leaning against the back of the couch, suitcases next to him and his phone in his hand. 

Emma swallowed at the sight of him standing there, the stiff set of his shoulders and the way he kept flexing his left hand mindlessly. 

“Killian,” Ingrid said, coming around the corner from the living room with his blazer in her hand. “Don’t forget this. It was on the back of the couch when I got home last night. “  
  
“Thank you, Ingrid,” he said softly, but his eyes flitted over to Emma, still lurking halfway between the hallway and the front door. “And thanks again for letting me be here this weekend. I appreciate it.”  
  
“Of course,” Ingrid said, squeezing his forearm quickly and smiling at him. “We all liked having you here.”  
  
Killian was still looking at Emma and she could see the dozens of questions on his face as clear as if he were actually asking them. 

“You ready to go, Emma?” Ingrid asked, blissfully ignorant to what was going on in her living room. Emma nodded and walked towards the door, ducking her eyes when she walked by Killian. He stayed still for a moment, standing next to Elsa, before the two of them followed, closing the front door behind them. 

She shouldn’t have been impressed with the latest banquet hall transformation, but the room still stunned Emma as she walked in. 

It was like a garden inside. 

There were flowers everywhere, and even more twinkling lights and the tables were – Emma tried not roll her eyes – actually picnic tables, covered in checkered table clothes. There were even more long tables covered with Granny’s greatest breakfast options on the far side of the hall. 

Killian hadn’t said a single word in the car ride to brunch and Emma noticed he was standing a few inches behind her, hands still firmly in his pockets. 

“I’m going to go get some food, Swan,” he said, stopping to stand next to her for a moment. “You good?” She couldn’t look at him, just shook her head and stared at the floor. “Yeah, I kind of figured.”  
  
Killian reached out and grabbed her wrist slightly. Emma flinched – again. He sighed. 

“Swan.” He said, the single word practically pulling her down into the floor. “Talk to me.” 

“I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit. All we’ve done all weekend is talk.”  
  
“Exactly.” Emma pulled her hand farther away, crossing her eyes and staring pointedly at him. “Listen, I better go talk to M’s and David, El said they were wondering where I went last night.”

She emphasized the word  _ I _ and Killian tilted his head at her, the pain as clear on his face as if it had slapped her. It kind of felt like it had. 

“Of course,” he said, practically breathing out the words. “Go talk to your friends, Swan. I’ll, uh, go find a seat or something.”

She nodded as he turned on his heel and walked away. Emma bit her lip tightly and blinked several times before turning the opposite direction towards Mary Margaret and David – who had very clearly seen everything.

Mary Margaret stared expectantly as Emma walked towards them, a look of confidence on her face. David looked slightly nervous.

“What?” Emma spat out. 

“You left last night,” David said, holding up his hands in mock-defense. “Where’d you go?”  
  
“I was tired.”

“Yeah.” He stared at her with a lock that screamed  _ disappointed dad _  and Emma returned it with her best impression of  _ pissed-off teenager _ . “Babe,” David continued, “You think you could let Emma and I talk?”

Mary Margaret’s head snapped between the two of them, but she nodded, leaving Emma and David in her wake. 

“You going to yell at me dad?” Emma snapped. “Elsa beat you to the punch.”  
  
“That’s not fair, she lives in the same house you do. I’d like my fair shot.”

“You realize you’re not actually my father.”  
  
“I am, however, your friend.” Emma shrugged. “Ah, so that’s how you want to do it then,” David continued. 

“Do what?”

“You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, David.”

“Where’d you go last night?”

“I left.”

“I pieced that together really quickly, actually,” David groaned. 

“Ace work, detective.”

“Jeez, Emma. It’s a pretty simple question.”

It was the opposite of a simple question. “I left. Killian left. We walked around town,” Emma said quickly, leaving out the finer points of the night. David didn’t look impressed with the answer. 

“You’re leaving stuff out, but that’s fine. What’s with the face?”  
  
“This is my face.”

“Nuh uh, not this weekend it hasn’t been.”  
  
“God, if one more person points out how _happy_ I am, I am going to go on a murder rampage through this entire town.”  
  
“I’ve got a badge, Emma, you can’t just say shit like that.”  
  
“I think you’re out of your jurisdiction, Detective Nolan.”

“Not a detective yet,” he muttered, but he smiled at Emma. “They’re not lying though, Emma. You’ve been happy this weekend. Why aren’t you now?”  
  
“It’s over.”

“What is?” 

“Kilian. Me. Whatever was happening this weekend.”

“Did something happen?”

“David…” Emma wasn’t going into details with anyone, least of all David. He just held up his hand. 

“Did  _ he _ do something?”

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be like best friends? You’ve been Team-Killian forever.”

“Emma,” he said, seriously, drawing his eyebrows low as if he couldn’t believe she would suggest something like that. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I have always been Team-Emma. Since you were 12 years old and Mary Margaret said we had to be friends. I’m worried about  _ you _ .” He flicked her on the arm to prove his point. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Almost.”

“You need me to kill him?”

Emma laughed slightly under her breath and gave David her first real smile of the day. “I don’t think so.”

“I would, you know.”

“I know you would.” 

David smiled at her, flicking her arm again for good measure, and Emma felt something resembling happiness flick across her chest. She stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around David’s neck, hugging him as tightly as he could. He hugged her right back, cupping her head with his hand and whispered  _ Team Emma  _ in her ear. 

“I’m going to go get some food,” Emma said softly. “We’ll meet you later to head back to the train?”

David nodded and Emma spun around, eyes widening at the sight at the other end of the hall. Killian Jones sitting at one of those absurd picnic tables with Ruby only a few inches away from him. They were talking about something – Emma was too far away to hear – but she could see the smile on his face from where she was standing. 

It took her five seconds to cross the entire hall and sit down on Killian’s other side, the anger and frustration and  _ jealousy _ coursing through her system with a furor that surprised her. 

She  _ knew  _ it. 

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, curiosity written across his face. 

“Hey Emma!” Ruby said, waving as she leaned around Killian’s body. 

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, voice harsh even to her own ears. Killian widened his eyes at her and Ruby slid a bit farther down the table. 

“I just wanted to show Killian that copy of  _ The Mirror _ I had promised,” Ruby said slowly. “I forgot on Friday night.”  
  
“A star in print from the get-go, love,” he said softly. 

“Something like that.”  
  
“I think I’m going to go see if Granny needs any help in the kitchen,” Ruby said slowly, eyes narrowing when she gazed at Emma in confusion. “Regina actually let her have some control over the food this morning.” 

She was gone so quickly Emma was certain she ran away, but Killian stayed rooted to the spot, same wide-eyed stare plastered on his face. “You going to explain to me what’s going on now?”   
  
“What were you talking about?”

“Ruby just told you, Swan.  _ The Mirror _ . You were right, it could use some work.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”

Somehow the eyes got even wider and _angrier_. “Excuse me?”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
“Are you kidding me?”  
  
“Why would I joke about something like that?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
“You were all smiling and laughing and awfully close.”  
  
“You know how insane you sound?”

“I just know what I saw.”  
  
“Swan, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”  
  
“Nothing.”

Killian groaned and twisted his left wrist slightly, rubbing the back of his palm. “Alright,” he said softly and Emma ignored the shiver it sent down her spine. “Nothing is going on. Nothing went on.” He stood up quickly, the force of it shaking the table slightly and stared at Emma.  He was mad – furious even – but Emma could see the hurt in his eyes and the tension in the corners of his mouth and Elsa’s warning from earlier played in her head again. 

You’re going to break his heart, Emma.

* * *

He slept most of the train ride.

When Killian did wake up, he did his best to get Emma to talk. She didn’t. 

“Hungry?” he asked a few hours away from New York, as he nudged her shoulder with a familiarity that made Emma’s chest tighten. “I could go get some food. Or, you know, Ingrid gave us stuff from Granny’s.”

“I’m fine.”

She said the words as quickly as possible, keeping her eyes trained on the window as far away from him as she could. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hear him though. Emma could hear him sigh with perfect clarity. 

He went back to sleep after that. 

It was nearly midnight by the time they actually reached Penn Station and Killian was still asleep, finally looking a bit more relaxed than he had been throughout their final hours in Storybrooke. Emma sighed herself, biting her lip and ignoring that  _ one _ piece of hair that had fallen across Killian’s forehead, wondering what the odds were that she could get back to her bedroom without anyone asking any questions. 

The odds seemed discouragingly low.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said drowsily from the other aisle. “We’re here.”  
  
“I got it, M’s.”

“You might want to wake up Killian.”  
  
“I got it, M’s,” she repeated, finally turning away from the window. Emma reached out and put her hand on Killian’s shoulder, fighting off the nerves in her stomach. “Killian,” she said softly, shaking him just a bit as his eyelids fluttered. 

“Emma?” he mumbled and her heart flipped in between her ribs. Killian moved his head and brushed his hand through his hair quickly. He seemed to realize what he had said the moment his eyes met hers and his face settled into an attempt at passivity. His eyes weren’t quite on the same page though and Emma saw every single emotion in the blue. 

“Swan?” he asked, blinking quickly. “Are we here?”

Emma nodded once, still not trusting herself to talk, as the train skid to a stop in the tunnel underneath Penn Station. Killian stood up quickly, grabbing the suitcases off the top shelf and set them on the floor in the aisle next to him. He grabbed both of them and walked towards the open doors. 

“Let’s go, Swan,” he said softly, but Emma heard him as clearly as if he was standing next to her. She threw a nervous glance towards Mary Margaret and David who simply stared between the two of them. 

“Walk, Emma,” David said. She was certain he was doing his best to sound encouraging, but he sounded just as nervous as Emma felt. 

Killian was waiting for her at the bottom of the escalator – still holding her luggage – and Emma met his eyes. “You ready?” she asked. 

“Have been,” he said sharply as he took a step forward, dragging both suitcases behind him. 

She didn’t say anything else, biting her lip and holding the moving railing tightly so that it almost hurt underneath her hand. They reached the top of the escalator and the main floor of Penn Station – still surprisingly busy for closing in on midnight – and Emma heard David and Mary Margaret follow closely behind them. She reached forward to try and grab her suitcase, her hand brushing over Killian’s and he snapped his head towards her. Emma took a step back. 

He looked furious. 

“David, Mary Margaret,” he said softly, still staring angrily at Emma. “You think you can give us a couple of minutes?”

David nodded, but Mary Margaret looked warily at Emma. “It’s ok, M’s,” Emma whispered, unable to unlock her eyes from Killian’s. “I’ll um...I’ll meet you by the train, ok?”

“Ok.” Mary Margaret reached forward and squeezed Emma’s forearm before turning towards the opposite end of the station. 

“What do you want?” Emma asked sharply. 

“Are you kidding me, Swan?”

He really was furious. His eyes were dark – darker than they had been the night before – and he crossed his arms across his chest. His hair fell across his face again and Emma kept her arms trained at her side, determined not to reach up and brush it away. That would go against everything she was trying to accomplish. 

“You wanted to talk,” she answered. “Talk.”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on.” His voice was still sharp, but Emma could hear the undercurrent of emotion there as well. He was confused and he  _ hated  _ it. Emma couldn’t blame him. Whiplash. It was whiplash. 

Emma opened her mouth to say  _ nothing _ again, but Killian beat her to it. “If you say ‘nothing’ again, love, I’m going to lose my mind.”

That did it. That one word, that one nickname, was enough. This had to stop. Here. In the middle of Penn Station. 

“Don’t call me that,” Emma whispered, losing some of her nerve halfway through the sentence. 

“Call you what? I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not your  _ love _ . I’m not your anything.”

_ You’re going to break his heart, Emma _ . 

She could see the moment the words hit him, his face almost cracking as he looked at her. His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together tightly as he rolled his shoulders slightly. He didn’t look confident. He didn’t look like  _ Killian _ . 

He looked like a lost little boy who had watched everyone and everything he ever loved leave him. 

“What?” he whispered, rubbing his hand.

“I’m not...we’re not…” Emma stuttered. 

“Anything,” he finished for her. Emma nodded. “And you decided this when?”

“We can’t, Killian,” she said, ignoring his question completely. 

He pressed on undeterred. “Before or after last night?” he asked, spitting out the words. “Before or after the ice cream and the breaking and entering or telling me that everything was going to be ok? Before or after that, Swan?”

He glared at her and Emma took a step back instinctively. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The truth would be nice.”

“We can’t,” Emma repeated. “It’s just...it’s not going to work here.”

“You’re running,” he said simply. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. He  _ knew _ her. “You’re scared and you’re running away.”

Emma crossed her own arms and shot him a look. He didn’t back down – just widened his eyes as he waited for her response. 

“Aren’t you?” she asked.  
  
“I think the events of the last few days would prove otherwise.”  
  
“Yuh huh, straight towards Ruby.”

Killian rolled his eyes and made a face. “Pulling at straws,” he said, his voice rising quickly. “We were talking about _you_. Everyone in that town thought I was your boyfriend, Swan, I hardly think one of your friends would try to make some sort of pass at me.”  
  
“That didn’t seem to stop you.”  
  
“You realize how ridiculous you sound? It sounded absurd when were there and it sounds a little desperate now. You’re looking for something to blame.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

Emma just couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do emotions and  _ boyfriends _ and deep, dark personal histories that matched up more than she ever could have thought. Emma did alone and low expectations. She didn’t do Killian Jones. 

At least she wouldn’t again. 

“I’m not,” Emma objected. “I don’t need anything to blame when I  _ know  _ it just won’t work.”

“Why?”

“Why won’t it work?”  
  
“No, I don’t care about whatever your reasons are for that.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”

Killian moved his hand between his body and Emma’s, splaying out his fingers through the empty space. He widened his eyes at her – as if she was supposed to understand what any of that meant. 

“Why did you lie?” he said, voice barely above a whisper and sounding just a little broken. 

“I didn’t.”

“Then you’ve got to explain to me what’s going on Swan, because I don’t understand.”

“It’s just...it’s too much, Killian,” Emma said softly. “It’s too much and I can’t.”

“You’re scared.”

Terrified would have been a better word, Emma thought to herself. Terrified of him and how much he knew and how much he  _ cared _ and that one day he’d look at her and realize she was hardly worth the effort. 

Everyone else had thought that – except Mary Margaret and David and Elsa and Ingrid, her mind helpfully supplied. She ignored that. 

Emma didn’t say anything and Killian looked like he was practically carved out of stone in front of her. He scuffed his shoe along the ground, staring at the mark it made on the disgusting Penn Station floor and cracked his knuckles. 

“Scared of me?” he asked softly, doing his best to get in Emma’s eyeline. She swallowed and continued to stare at the floor. “Swan?”  
  
“Maybe.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to cut the ties completely, send him back to his apartment and then they could go back to work and everything would be normal. He’d assign her stories and they’d film the videos and she’d help Henry play baseball again. 

She could do that. 

She couldn’t. 

Not when everything had changed, not when she could feel him under her skin, like every single one of his emotions was coursing through her as well. Not when she could feel the disappointment rolling off him. 

She wanted him so badly her whole body hurt. 

“Why?” Killian repeated. 

“It’s too much.”  
  
“So you’ve said. That’s not very specific.”

“We had the weekend Killian, we had last night. That’s it.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware there were rules.”  
  
“Of course there are.”  
  
“Only because they’re your rules. I told you, Swan, I don’t intend to let you down. I...I’m here. Still. I wanted to be there this weekend. I wanted to be with you. I…”

Emma cut him off. She couldn’t let him finish that sentence. It would only make it worse. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

He took a step towards her and reached out to grab ahold of her hand – Emma pulled away and Killian just sighed sadly. “Don’t shut me out now, love.”

He seemed to call her that without thinking and shut his eyes lightly when he realized what he’d done. Emma was certain she could actually hear her heart snap in half. 

“I can’t,” she breathed, staring at her shoes. 

“I know you feel something here Swan. I know it. It’s not just me. We could work. We could be good.”

“And then we’d be bad,” she said before she could stop herself. 

Killian snapped his head up, tilting it slightly in confusion. “What was that?”

“It wouldn’t work, Killian. You’re my boss for God’s sake. Everything that happened this weekend was a mistake and you know it. We got a few days of good, but we can’t keep going like this. What do you think they’re going to say when we get back to work?”  
  
“You’re worried about a little gossip?”  
  
“No, I’m worried about getting a byline once you decide I’m too much to deal with and walk away.”

His eyes were absurdly blue. Emma could see every shade as he gaped at her, taking a step back like she had just thrown an actual curveball at him. Killian opened his mouth and closed it – several times – and Emma could hear her pulse in her ears. 

She was certain she wouldn’t have noticed if all of Penn Station collapsed into 34th Street right at the moment. The only thing she saw was  _ blue _ . 

“That’s honestly what you think?” he asked. “Of me?”

Emma nodded slowly and Killian let out a huff of breath. “Jesus, Swan,” he muttered. That was when she realized he was angry. His eyes flashed at her and, this time, it was Emma who took a step back. 

“You really believe that? After everything I told you? After everything I’ve gone through you think I would be the one to leave? Really?”

Emma nodded again, not trusting herself to talk. It didn’t matter. Killian wasn’t done yet. 

“You play this card Swan and you pile the armor on and act like everyone you’ve ever loved has left. That’s not true. You have a  _ family _ Swan, people who love you and want to fight for you. I’ve got no one. Nothing, for a very long time except this job.  And then you show up and practically run me over outside of the elevator and you take over my entire life. I...I  _ care _ about you and your family and your friends and making sure you’re  _ happy _ . God, I just want you to be happy Swan.”  
  
He pushed his hands into his pockets with enough force to rip them and rocked back on his heels. “I thought you were happy with me,” he said. 

“I was,” Emma said. 

“Then why? Why couldn’t we be happy?”

“Because you’ll leave! You’ll find something better or you’ll walk away and it’ll be over and I won’t know what to do. At least now I have a little bit of control.”

“No, you don’t,” he countered. “You have fear. And that’s it. It’s eating you alive.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” Emma reached forward to grab her suitcase, but Killian was quicker than her, grabbing her by the forearm and pulling her closer to him, just a few inches away from his chest. 

“I can’t do anything if you don’t trust me,” he said, nearly spitting the words at her, his eyes no more than slits. “I’ve tried, Emma. Tried to be open and honest and  _ prove _ myself to you. But if you don’t trust me, if you can’t believe that I am  _ in _ , then I can’t do anything else.  You’ve got to let go of that fear eventually. Otherwise everyone really  _ will  _ leave and you’ll always be an orphan.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged and she could feel the tears pricking just behind her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to force the moisture back before the telltale evidence of emotion started falling down her cheeks. 

She wouldn’t cry in front of Killian. 

She pulled her arms back out of his grasp and yanked her suitcase towards her, pulling it into her leg. 

“You’ve been an ass before Killian,” she said sharply, “but that was low, even for you.”  
  
“Even for me?” he repeated sarcastically. “Even for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Swan? I went  _ home _ with you. I told you things  _ no one _ else knows. God, I….”

His voice was growing louder and more frenzied with each word and he looked like he had suddenly lost his center of gravity. 

“Killian,” Mary Margaret said softly. Emma wasn’t sure where she had come from. She wasn’t sure how long she had been there. She didn’t care. She leaned into her friend’s space, trying to gain some sort of confidence by her proximity. David wasn’t far behind – his hand falling protectively on her shoulder. 

“Ah, the cavalry’s arrived,” Killian said, mockingly. 

“Don’t do that,” Mary Margaret continued, speaking just as softly.  _ Teacher voice _ , Emma thought to herself. 

“I’m not a kid, Mary Margaret. Don’t talk to me like I’m eight years old.”

“Then act like you’re not. This isn’t solving anything. I think you should go home.”

“I live five blocks away from you. I take the same train.”

Huh. Well, that solved the great mystery of where Killian Jones actually lived. Emma would have laughed if she wasn’t certain it would sound a bit manic. 

“We’ll take a cab,” David supplied, palm still resting on Emma’s shoulder. “Go.”

Killian took a deep breath, his shoulders moving up and down with the effort and he wrapped his fingers around his suitcase, pulling it up with one hand and slinging it over his shoulder. 

Emma wanted to say something. She should have said something. She should have told him she was sorry or that she  _ did  _ trust him or that she thought he might actually be the best man she had ever met. 

She should have, but she didn’t.

She leaned against David’s arm, as if she needed it to remain standing upright, and simply tried to meet his gaze. 

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you Swan,” Killian said, a hint of acid in his voice. It was an act. Emma knew it.  _ Sometimes it’s easier to be an ass _ , he told her. He was playing a part, falling into a role that had helped keep him sane when everyone he had ever loved had left. 

_ You’re going to break his heart.  _

“Killian,” she said softly, finally finding the courage to speak, but he had already turned away, halfway towards the hallway for the downtown ‘A’ train.  

“Let him go, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, taking a step towards her and wrapping her hand around Emma’s other shoulder. David squeezed his hand and that did it – she could feel the tears falling down her face. 

Mary Margaret took a step back and David wrapped Emma in his arms, holding her as tightly as he could while she cried into his shoulder. She could hear the tourists passing by, could almost feel the questioning stares as squeaky suitcases rolled past her, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to stop crying. 

She had been so certain, so convinced she was right. Push him away before he could walk away. Save some face down the line. 

She hadn’t counted on him fighting for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me, guys? Oooooooof. I know. I know. And I'm sorry. But it couldn't be easy, could it? I mean, it could, but like the angst. I absolutely promise it will get better. It really will. Don't hate me too much.


	30. Chapter 30

Emma went to work.

She felt like that was a victory. One that required some coaxing from both Mary Margaret and David the next morning.

None of them had gotten much sleep.

David ushered them into a cab a few moments after Killian had walked away and, eventually, Emma had cried herself out. She wasn’t entirely certain how she got up the stairs and onto the living room couch – she was fairly certain David and Mary Margaret had more or less carried her up.

She collapsed into the cushions, toeing off her flats and kicking them towards the corner. “I’ll pick those up later,” she said to Mary Margaret.

“I honestly could not care less.”

Emma blinked and Mary Margaret sat down next to her while David handed her a glass of water, sinking onto the coffee table in front of her feet.

“Please don’t ask me why,” Emma said.

“I wasn’t going to go,” Mary Margaret answered. “I know why.”

“Of course you do.”

“Emma,” David said, wrapping his hand around her ankle and shaking it slightly. “You know we’re here, right? No matter what. Even if you do dumb stuff like this.”  
  
“It’s not dumb,” Emma mumbled, not even believing the words herself. It was the _dumbest_.

“It’s a little dumb,” David argued. “It’s going to be ok though.”

“You think?”

“He’s just mad now. He’ll be fine tomorrow. Or you know, fine-ish.”

“I just couldn’t.”  
  
“We know, Emma,” Mary Margaret interrupted. “But you have to realize how much that hurt him.”

“I know it did.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she could actually bring herself to ask the one question that had been eating away at the back of her mind as soon as the train pulled into Penn Station.

“What?” Mary Margaret asked, reading her face perfectly.

“I don’t want to lose my friend.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said softly and Emma tried not to start crying again. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Emma.”

Emma bit her lip, but Mary Margaret wasn’t done yet. “But,” she said slowly, “maybe give him some space. For awhile. He’s....well, he’s hurt.”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“I know you weren’t.”

Mary Margaret didn’t say it, but Emma knew it – she might not have meant to, but that didn’t change the fact that she did. Badly.

Still, she grudgingly went to work the next day and tried to walk confidently through the double glass doors, desperately working to convince herself that everything was fine.

Emma was scared. Again. That seemed to be a recent trend.

But this time she wasn’t scared of the future or what one with Killian Jones in it would look like. She was scared of a future that didn’t have him in it at all.

Emma was honest with Mary Margaret – she didn’t want to lose her friend. Because no matter what else had happened that had _always_ been true. Killian Jones had been her friend. And Emma had pushed that away with both hands.

She was a few feet away from her desk before she even realized she had walked onto the sports floor and Emma glanced up at Killian’s office, nervous and hopeful that he would be there. He wasn’t. The lights were off. The door was closed. It looked like nothing had moved in several days – as if he hadn’t been inside at all.

Emma looked down at her phone, tapping the screen and staring at the time. It was almost 3 o’clock. He had an editors meeting at 3 o’clock. She scanned the sports floor, trying to find him. He wasn’t there.

He hadn’t shown up.

Emma’s heart clenched painfully.

“Hey Emma!”

She nearly tripped over her own feet, turning quickly to stare at Will. He was standing in front of her desk, a wide smile on his face as if everything _really_ was ok and Killian not showing up for an editor’s meeting was normal.

“Hey Will,” she mumbled, picking up the pile of pens that had fallen across her desk. She had knocked the holder over. “What’s up?”  
  
“How was the wedding?!”  
  
“What?”   
  
“The wedding? How was it? Nice to be home?”   
  
“How did you know that’s where I was?”

Will stared at her, still smiling, but his face seemed to scream _please_ at her. “Emma,” he said slowly. “Everyone knew. The whole building knew.”

“That so?” Her stomach felt like it was in knots. She shouldn’t have come to work.

“Of course. Killian went with you right?” He asked the question like it was simply passing curiosity, but Emma could tell from the tone of his voice that he already knew the answer to his question – and probably quite a bit more.

“You know that he did,” Emma said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

Will just shrugged. “Seemed more polite to ask.”

“Thanks,” she sighed.

“So you know where he is?”

Emma blinked once and bit her lip so tightly it hurt. He hadn’t shown up. “No,” she said simply, hoping Will would walk away.

He didn’t.

“Get in kind of late last night?”  
  
“Kind of. It’s a long train ride.”   
  
“Of course.”

His answers were short and Emma got the distinct impression that there was much more behind them than just the words he was saying. She glared at him. He held his ground. “What are you getting at Will?”  
  
“Just seems strange that you’d be here and he wouldn’t. If you got back at the same time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

Will held up his hands in front of him – a sign of surrender – and shook his head quickly. “I’m not saying anything, Emma. There’s something going on, but I’m not saying anything.”

“I am here because I have work to do,” Emma said, only lying slightly. “If Killian didn’t then I’m sure he wanted to get some sleep.”  
  
“Did he not when you were in Maine?”

“Jeez, Will.”

“I kid. I kid. Fine. Do your work Emma, but be prepared for the inevitable inquisition from the lifestyles floor. They were in crisis mode for most of last week when they realized you and Killian were gone.”

Emma groaned sinking into her chair and leaning her head on her hand. “You know how absurd all of this is right?”

Will nodded, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. “Sometimes that’s just life.” He opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something else, but Emma’s phone went off at exactly the same time.

“Saved,” she muttered. Will just glared at her, nodding towards the still-ringing phone. Emma sighed and grabbed it. _Henry_ . “Hey, Henry” she said, feeling something resembling good for the first time that day. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Mary Margaret said you wanted me to call you.”  
  
“Yeah, I did, I had a couple of questions for you and I kind of lost track of time last week.” Emma leaned the phone against her shoulder, raising one hand to point past Will. _Go_ she mouthed at him and he scowled at her. Emma just widened her eyes before Will’s shoulders sagged and he walked away.

“What kind of questions?”  
  
“Well I – I mean Killian and I – were going through some of your box scores from before and we realized something. You didn’t actually play when you were in eighth grade.”

Henry was silent for a moment – as if he was trying to replay the games in his head – and Emma waited, not-so-patiently, for him to confirm her theory.

“You know, I think that’s true. Is that important?”  
  
“Incredibly.”

“How you figure?”  
  
“If you didn’t play, I’m certain – well, fairly certain – that it doesn’t count as a year. So your few games on varsity wouldn’t count.”   
  
“And that means?”   
  
“That means it wouldn’t affect your eligibility.”   
  
He was silent again and Emma could practically hear him doing the math in his head. She smiled. “So that means…” Henry said softly. “That I’d have another year.”   
  
“You could play again.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and Emma nodded quickly, knowing full well he couldn’t see her.

“I can’t promise you anything yet, Henry,” she said honestly. “But I think this could be big. I really think this could help. If you have another year then I don’t know how the state or the city or anyone else could tell you that you couldn’t play again.”

“Thanks, Emma,” he said and she could hear the serious tone in his voice.

“Maybe you could come in later this week and we could talk again? Get some stuff on the record before I try and get something out of the city?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s totally cool. What about Friday? At the piers?”  
  
“The piers? You don’t want to just come to the office?”  
  
“Well” he said slowly, almost like Emma should already know what he was talking about. “I’ll just be down there anyway. I thought it’d be easier for you to come with Killian after work.”  
  
“Henry, what are you talking about?” Emma asked, her impatience getting the better of her.  
  
“Killian texted me a couple hours ago. Said you guys were back and asked if I wanted to hit again on Friday. Didn’t he tell you that?”  
  
_No_ , Emma thought. He hadn’t told her that. Because he hadn’t shown up to work.

“It’s been a kind of crazy couple of days,” she said. That was an understatement.

“Yeah, you guys went away right?”  
  
“I was in a friend’s wedding.”  
  
“Oh,” Henry said softly. “Killian said he went with you.”   
  
Emma lowered her eyebrows, curiosity getting the better of her. “What?”   
  
“Didn’t he?”

“No, I mean, yeah, yeah, he did.”

Henry was silent for a moment and Emma was actually concerned their line had been disconnected. “Is everything ok, Emma?” Henry asked and Emma nearly sighed at how perceptive a teenage kid could be – even over the phone.

“It’s fine, Henry, I promise. Like I said, just a crazy couple of days.” Well it was _entirely_ a lie.

“Ok…” Henry didn’t sound entirely convinced. “So, Friday?”  
  
“Friday.”

“You gonna come to the cages or you want me to come to the office again?”  
  
“Ummm…” She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure Killian would want her there. And that made everything worse. “I’ll let you know, ok? Let me just talk to Killian first, ok?”

“You’re really sure everything’s ok?”

“Really.”  
  
“Alright, listen, I’ve got to go back to work, but let me know.”  
  
“Of course,” Emma promised. “Tell M’s I said hi.”  
  
Henry laughed, catching Emma by surprise. “What did you call her?”

“Oh, I’ve always called her that. Mary Margaret’s an awful mouthful isn’t it?”

“True. I’ve just never heard anyone here call her that.”  
  
“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Emma said, smiling despite herself. “No one else does. Not even her boyfriend.”   
  
Henry was still laughing when he asked his next question. “So you’re special then?”   
  
Emma bit her lip slightly, eyes glancing to Killian’s empty office almost instinctively. “When it comes to Mary Margaret at least.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty nice,” Henry agreed.

“She’s the best,” Emma said emphatically.

“I’ll tell her you said hi.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk you later, ok?”  
  
“Ok.”

* * *

Emma made it through the day. She answered the – frankly  – absurd amount of e-mails she accumulated over the weekend, responded in detail to Isaac’s questions about the latest video shoot and stared at Killian’s empty office far more than she would have liked to admit.

He never showed up.

“I’m going to head out, Emma. It’s pretty late,” Will said, stepping towards her desk. She had no idea what time it was.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Emma mumbled, not taking her eyes off her computer. She was scrolling through Facebook.

“You want to walk out with me?”  
  
“Nah, I’m going to stick around here a little while longer.”  
  
“What could you possibly have to do?”

Nothing. She didn’t have anything to do. But it would be quiet and Emma _desperately_ needed a bit of quiet.

“Stuff,” she said evasively.

“Stuff?”  
  
“Yeah, lots of stuff.”  
  
“That’s not very specific.”

“Ok.”

Will sighed at her, staring at her for a moment and Emma kept her eyes trained at the screened. She needed him to leave. She needed a moment – just one – to herself. If she was alone for just one moment, maybe, Emma could process everything that had been racing through her mind for the last day and a half.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Will asked.

“That seems likely.”

Will rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything else, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder and walking towards the door. The floor was empty. The reporters were either at games or finished for the day and the rest of the section copy editors usually worked the late-shift on a different floor.

Emma was by herself.

And she finally felt like she could breathe.

She stood up quickly, kicking off her heels under desk and walking along the aisles in between the cluster of desks, trying to remember to breathe in her nose and out her mouth. _God_ , she was tired.

Emma walked across the floor slowly, trailing her fingers along the edges of desks, eyes constantly flitting back to Killian’s empty office. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t shown up. Well, that was a lie. She could.

 _You’re going to break his heart, Emma_.

She had fucked up. Badly.

She couldn't breathe again.

Emma was standing in front of the dark room door before she realized her feet were heading in that direction. She swung open the door – not even bothering to close it behind her – and flicked on the light, the slight red glow seeping into the corners of the room. She took a few steps in and sank onto the floor, leaning her back against the old production table.

There was a shelf just behind her back and Emma glanced at it, noticing the book and headphones sitting there. _Killian_ . She reached out before she could consider all the reasons she shouldn’t and stared at the book –  _Treasure Island._

Emma smiled despite herself, laughing under her breath and flipped open the cover. There was a note on the inside:

 _Killian,_ _  
_ _Now you can leave that poor librarian on 12th street alone and keep your own copy of the book. I’m sure she’ll miss you coming in every other week demanding Treasure Island, but, somehow, this seems like a better option. Happy birthday, little brother.  
_ __Liam__

Emma traced her fingers over the writing – slightly faded over the years – and bit her lip tightly. She wondered quickly why Killian would leave something like that in the back corner of _The New York Record_ dark room, but it didn’t take long to come up with an answer. _He didn’t think anyone else would come back here_.

She tightened her hold on her lip and looked down at the note again, wondering which birthday it had been, what else he had gotten, why he was demanding _Treasure Island_ from the New York public library system every other week.

Her phone buzzed loudly, shaking her out of her thoughts and Emma felt her pulse thump erratically. “Jeez,” she muttered, grabbing the device and swiping her finger across the screen to read the text message from Mary Margaret.

_You ok?_

No, Emma thought, but she also knew Mary Margaret was well aware of that fact. **_Fine_ ** , she wrote instead, **_Just finishing some stuff at work. I lost a lot of time over the weekend_. **

Mary Margaret didn’t respond for several moments and Emma could see her face as clearly as if she was standing right in front of her. Finally, the phone buzzed again and Emma glanced down.

 _Ok. There’s food when you get back_.

Emma was halfway through responding – typing out her thanks for Mary Margaret’s constant determination to keep her fed – when she heard the footsteps and nearly dropped her phone.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

Emma snapped her head towards Killian, standing a few feet away from her – a faded Louisville t-shirt on and jeans that fit so well it was almost _unfair_. She could see the angry red circles around his eyes from where she was sitting and his hair was sticking up in nearly every direction.

He was standing still, but he looked as if he was shaking a bit, like he couldn’t find his center of gravity. Killian raised his eyebrows slightly, opening his mouth and Emma saw him run his tongue along his bottom lip.

His eyes hadn’t left the book, still sitting open on her lap.

Emma closed the cover lightly, putting the book back on the shelf next to the headphones and standing up. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“For what? The shit you pulled last night or going through my stuff?”

She looked up at him, angry retort sitting on the tip of her tongue, but every single word got caught in her throat when she actually saw him. Killian’s voice had been hard, angry, but as soon as Emma saw his face, everything changed. Sad wasn’t the word. It was more. It was everything she had felt all day, plastered on his face.

And she had done that.

She took a step towards him instinctively, but Killian took a step back just as quickly. Emma did her best not to gasp.

“I didn’t know it was yours at first,” she answered softly, pointedly ignoring the first part of his question.

He didn’t miss that, just nodded slowly.

“Liam gave me that,” he added, just as softly. “A long time ago.”  
  
Emma tried to smile, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes, and she took a step towards him again. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”  
  
“Really. This isn’t...I wasn’t…”

“You weren’t what? What exactly were you trying to do?”  
  
Emma shrugged and shook her head slowly. “I just couldn’t.”

Killian opened his mouth again, but he didn’t say anything, just sighed and closed his eyes lightly. He didn’t move back when Emma walked closer to him – just a few inches away – and it only took seconds for her to smell the rum on him.

“Where were you today?” she asked, fighting off every instinct to run her fingers over the back of his left hand.

Killian still hadn’t opened his eyes. “I just couldn’t,” he said, throwing Emma’s words back at her.

“That’s not you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

That was a lie. They both knew it. They had spent the entire weekend talking and sharing and finding even ground with vaguely depressing backstories and Emma was certain – if there was one thing she knew at that moment – it was Killian Jones.

“How much?” she asked.

That woke him up. His eyes opened and Emma felt like she might actually drown in how blue they were. Killian tightened his jaw, like he was pressing his teeth into each other and tilted his head at her. “How much what?” he asked.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“That’s a rather pointed question.”  
  
“Killian,” she said, ignoring the slash she felt across her chest when she said his name. He was staring straight at her. “I can smell it. You were gone all day. How much?”  
  
He didn’t answer immediately, almost like he was weighing his options. “Enough,” he said finally, shoulders sagging just a bit.

Emma’s heart broke.

“Why?” she asked, pressing her luck.

“Why what?”  
  
“Why do that?”

Killian stared at her again, mouth set in a straight line, and took a deep breath before answering. “You know why Swan.”  

He whispered her name, as if he weren’t sure what to call her, desperate to try and find something to hold onto.

“I’m sorry.” That was the third time she had apologized.

Killian didn’t say anything else, taking several steps back to put some space between him and Emma. He rubbed his hand as he moved and Emma leaned against the bench behind her, feeling as if she were going to fall over slightly.

They stood there in silence for what felt like hours – or possibly several days – but neither one of them said anything, both of them just staring at the floor.

“You really think it was a mistake?” Killian asked, finally breaking the silence. Emma crossed her arms, tightening them across her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together. She considered her answer for a moment before responding.

“No,” she whispered.

Killian was still on the other side of the room from her – they had both retreated into respective corners – and Emma saw him raise his hands, rubbing angrily at his eyes. The red was practically mocking her.

“I wouldn’t have left,” he said, raising his head slowly to look at her. “Ever.”

“You can’t possibly know that. Something would have happened. Something always happens.”

“That’s not true.” 

Emma sighed, squeezing her arms again. “I would have stayed,” he continued. “Without question.”

Emma couldn’t breathe again. She ignored him, determined not to look at him, as she heard his footsteps come closer until he was standing next to her, leaning up against the bench.

“Why?” Emma asked.

In theory it was a simple question. One word, three letters, barely even a sentence. But in reality it was the most important question Emma had ever asked. Why would he stay? Why would he want to?

Who would want Emma Swan?

Killian took a deep breath and Emma could feel him move next to her – she kept her eyes focused ahead, staring at the wall, covered in never-used _New York Record_ photos.

“I’ve waited a long time for something, someone, to matter again. For someone to make me _care_ ,” he said slowly, taking his time on each and every word. “For a long time, this job was it. I cared about writing and being good again and telling good stories. And then, one day, you showed up and everything changed.  
  
You were confident and talented and you didn’t take anything from me. And God, you were gorgeous. Everything you did. It was all I could think about. Then, something happened, you let me in. You brought me home and your friends started texting me and you told me about Elsa and let me read Regina’s demanding wedding e-mails. And, suddenly, I knew, with everything in me, that I had found it – _you_ were that something important. You mattered. More than anything or anyone else.  
  
I was never really one for happy endings or riding off into the sunset – that kind of stuff didn’t happen for me – but, for a little while, I thought it could. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“No?” Emma asked, her voice cracking just a bit.

Killian shook his head. “I think I was right. That kind of stuff doesn’t really happen. Not for me, at least.”

Emma almost fell over. The breath rushed out of her lungs and she leaned forward with the effort, her head almost colliding with Killian’s shoulder. He reached out quickly, holding her up with his hand and his fingers hit skin where her shirt had ridden up slightly.

She almost kissed him. Almost.

“You can’t say that,” she whispered.

“I just did.”

“Killian…” His hand was still on her waist and Emma pulled away quickly, trying to put some space between them.

“I know, I know,” he mumbled. “This is what we do Swan. We fuck up. We push people away and then we wallow with overpriced Midtown rum. It’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine.”

“You think so?”  
  
“That’s how it’s always worked.”

“You want me to go?”  
  
Killian shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, almost sounding like he was admitting to something. “I don’t.”  
  
“I don’t either.”

He took a deep breath and, finally, stepped away from her slightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said again, like he was trying to convince himself as well.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Emma said as quickly as possible, rushing through the words.

“I could never hate you, Swan.”

Emma felt the ends of her mouth tick up at that. “I just...we’re friends, right?”

Killian looked at her, one eyebrow raised slightly, and bit his lip. “Of course,” he said. “Always.”

She nodded, blinking several times to try and keep the tears inside her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”  
  
“I don’t know what else to say.”  
  
“It’s over, Swan.”  
  
Emma nodded again, knowing he was right. It was over and she had pushed him away with both hands. _God_ , she had fucked up.

“You talked to Henry today?” he asked and the abrupt subject change hit Emma like a tornado.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “He said you were texting him.”

“I wanted to take him hit again. Might go to the track too. They’re starting to let him run again.”  
  
“You like him a lot don’t you?”

Killian shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I want to help. He deserves a second chance.”

He didn’t say anything else – but Emma knew. Killian wanted to help because he didn’t get a second chance, at least not until Henry had shown up and given him a chance to _fix_ it.

“Yeah, he does,” Emma agreed. “He um, he asked if I could come on Friday.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”  
  
“I...I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

He sighed again and rolled his shoulders back – Emma could hear them crack. “Stop that,” he said sharply, but she could hear the hint of sadness in his voice as well.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“He’s going to hit, Swan. We might run. There’s not anything to intrude on.”  
  
“But this was your thing.” She wasn’t entirely certain why she was arguing. She wanted to go. She _needed_ to go to get her story.

“This was _our_ thing,” he said quickly. “It’s your story, love.”

Emma’s eyes widened slightly at the nickname and Killian ran his hand over his face as he realized what he said. “You’ve got to talk to him, anyway,” he continued. “I’m not going to step on your toes.”

“Ok,” she said – a wholly inadequate answer.

“Ok.”

Emma’s phone buzzed again – it was ringing now – and she realized suddenly that she had never finished texting Mary Margaret back. “Sorry,” she muttered, stepping towards the corner of the room where her phone was sitting next to his book.

“Mary Margaret?” he asked, and Emma just nodded, swiping her thumb across the screen.

“Hey M’s, sorry, sorry, sorry,” Emma said quickly. “Yeah, no, I’m still here. I, uh, got caught up in some stuff. I’ll head home now.”  
  
“Don’t walk,” Mary Margaret warned and Emma shook her head, glancing towards Killian who was standing stock still a few feet away from her.

“I won’t. I’ll even get a bit crazy and take a cab.”

“Good. We’ll be here.”  
  
“I’ll see you soon.”

“Did she tell you not to walk home?” Killian asked as Emma hit the ‘end’ button and stuffed her phone in her back pocket.

“How did you know that?”  
  
“Just a good guess.”   
  
“That is exactly what she told me.”   
  
“She worries about you.”   
  
Emma smiled – the movement almost feeling foreign after the day she had – and nodded. “Yeah, she does.” They stared at each other for a moment and Emma had this sinking suspicion that _something_ was happening, but couldn’t quite put her finger on what that _something_ was. “I should probably go before she gets David to alert the entire precinct.”

Killian nodded. “We wouldn’t want to waste the city’s police resources like that.”  
  
“Absolutely not.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t move either and Emma suddenly knew what was going on – the realization hitting her like a mack truck. They had to decide _right then_ if they could still be friends.

“You want to split a cab?” Emma asked. Killian blinked and for a moment she thought he would agree with her, but then he was shaking his head and her whole body felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

“That might not be a good idea, Swan.”

“No?”

“I uh...I don’t think I can do that. Not right now at least.”

Emma nodded and tried to smile again, but she couldn’t move her mouth. “Yeah, yeah, ok,” she said, babbling slightly, as she tried to walk around him. “Of course. Yeah, that was, that was silly to ask. Sorry.”  
  
“No, Swan, that’s not what I mean,” he said quickly, reaching out suddenly and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “Just not now. Not today. Ask me again in a week, ok?”

Emma pulled her lips over her teeth. “Ok.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said softly, locking his eyes with Emma’s.

“I don’t hate you either.”

He _almost_ smirked at her, but the red around his eyes and the tight grip of his fingers made it impossible for Emma to believe he was feeling anything except disappointment. “That’s good,” he whispered, finally letting go of her wrist and nodding towards the door. “You better go before they put out an APB for you.”  
  
Emma took a step back and Killian retreated farther into the room, pulling his phone out and sinking onto the ground, grabbing his headphones and book from the shelf.

“I don’t want to just leave you here,” Emma said and the words sounded much bigger than they actually were. Killian laughed, staring at his shoes.

“I’ll be fine, Swan. I’m good at this.”

 _You’re going to break his heart, Emma_.

“I’m sorry,” she said for what felt like the one hundredth time.

“You’ve got to stop saying that. I was wrong. We were wrong. We can both move on.”  
  
“I just…” Emma started slowly, the one question she had worried about all day begging to be asked. She bit her tongue to stop herself from talking.

“You just what?” Killian asked, sticking one headphone into his ear.

“You’re my friend.”  
  
It seemed so simple, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she said the words. He didn’t say anything for what felt like hours, but Emma could hear the book opening and the pages rustling.

“That’s not going to change, Swan,” he said after what felt like an eon.

Emma could breathe again.

“Now, go,” he added. “Mary Margaret’s probably worried and I’m sure there’s plenty of food in your fridge. I know you didn’t eat.”

“I didn’t.”

“Go.”

Emma nodded once, turning the doorknob in her hand and swinging it open. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah,” Killian said simply, pulling his legs up slightly so he could balance the book on his knees. “I can’t ignore two hundred e-mails forever.”

“Good,” she said, meaning it. “Bye Killian.”

“See you later, Swan.”

* * *

It got better.

Or it got better-ish. The _ish_ seemed like the opportune word.

Killian showed up to work on Tuesday – and spent the entire afternoon in his office, fielding phone calls and staring at his laptop and answering questions from the half a dozen other reporters who walked in and out of the glass box.

Emma was certain his receptionist was going to lose her mind.

He didn’t talk to her. He barely even looked up. Four o’clock came and went – for the next three days – and he didn’t leave his desk.

“Where’s Killian?” Jerry asked, for the third day in a row, when Emma walked in on Thursday afternoon.

“He’s super busy,” she replied evasively, handing over two dollars for her hot chocolate. Jerry made some noise that seemed to scream skepticism and handed Emma two cups. “What is this?” she asked.

“Take him some coffee. I bet he could use it.”

Emma hesitated for a moment. She was certain Jerry was right – even if they hadn’t talked, Emma would have had to have been blind to not see the circles under Killian’s eyes – but she wasn’t certain he’d want her to be the one bringing him coffee.

“Take it, Emma,” Jerry pushed, nudging the cups towards Emma again. She sighed and grabbed them.

“Fine.”

“He’ll appreciate it.”

“I know, I know,” she muttered, pushing open the door with her shoulder and heading back towards the street. “Thanks, Jerry.”  
  
“Tell him to leave his office at some point too!”

Emma nodded and heard the door slam behind her. She walked back into _The Record_ office on auto-pilot, trying to come up with the _perfect_ words to work her way into Killian’s almost-constantly-occupied office.

“Hey!” Leroy yelled as Emma walked straight by his desk, not even bothering to try and hand over her ID badge. “You can’t just walk in like that!’  
  
“I just did!” she shouted back, already three quarters of the way to the elevator bank. It took exactly 37 seconds for her to be standing in front of Killian’s office and another two seconds for Lisa the receptionist to question her intentions.

“You’re actually waiting for me to let you in now, huh?” Lisa asked, sarcastically. Emma rolled her eyes. “Usually you just plow right in there.”

“I figured I’d try and play by the rules this time,” Emma answered, voice laden with just as much sarcasm as she could muster. Lisa moved to pick up the phone on her desk, but stopped when she heard the door swing open behind her and Killian on his way out.

He had his phone in his hand and was staring down at the screen, fingers racing across it as he typed. He almost ran into her.

Emma stepped out of the way just in time and Killian came up short a few inches in front of her, staring at her. “Swan,” he said, like he just realized she was there. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Um, I got you some coffee,” she said, lifting up her hand to prove it. “Or rather, Jerry did. He thought you might need it.”

He continued to stare at her, but – for the first time all week – the smirk on his face seemed genuine. “He wasn’t wrong,” Killian said, reaching forward to grab the cup out of Emma’s hand. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do anything.”  
  
“You carried the cup. That’s enough.”

“You alright?”

“Of course,” Killian said quickly. _Lie_. Emma narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Lisa, who was listening intently to the conversation. “I’ll be fine, Swan,” he amended. “Just busy.”

“Do you not want to go tomorrow? I’m sure Henry would understand.”

Killian looked as if she had just asked him to rob Fort Knox. “What?” he asked, the edge obvious in his voice. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to him. We’re even gonna run before we hit.”

“You’re going to hit?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “We’ll see.”

“Did Henry put you up to that?”  
  
“He might have mentioned it. A few times.”  
  
“Just how often do you guys talk?”

Killian shrugged again and Emma got the distinct impression that she wasn’t getting the whole story. “Enough. He’s just looking for someone to talk baseball with.”

“Somehow I think it’s more than that.”  
  
He looked uncomfortable, taking a long sip of coffee before he answered her. “He’s a good kid. I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t,” Emma said quickly. “That’s the nice part.”

“You going to meet us at the piers tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I told Will I’d help him with some stats stuff tomorrow afternoon, but I figured I’d go right over after.”

“Five?”

“That works.”  
  
Killian’s phone rang and he groaned, closing his eyes lightly. Emma smiled sadly at him, fighting off the instinct to grab his hand. “I gotta take this, Swan,” he said. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“I look forward to it.” He smiled at her again before he turned back into his office, sinking into the chair behind his desk as he pushed the phone up to his ear.

“Playing by the rules, huh?” Lisa muttered towards Emma.

“Something like that,” Emma said, taking a drink of hot chocolate and turning back towards her own desk.

* * *

Emma walked up to the desk in front of the Chelsea Piers batting cages and didn’t even say two words before the guy sitting there nodded to his right. “They’re over there,” he said.

She blinked once, glancing in that direction. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them. “Oh,” Emma mumbled. “Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.”

Killian and Henry were standing near the end of the pier – where there was a bit of turf along the side – both of the crouched low like they were taking a lead at first base and Emma lowered her eyebrows at the sight. The two of them were both dressed head-to-toe in Louisville baseball gear and Emma had to do her best not to roll her eyes.

“Ok,” Killian said and Emma knew immediately, this wasn’t the first time he had said this. “So the key is the turn, right? You stay low until you see the ball leave the pitcher’s hand and then you’ve got to spin and sprint as fast as you possibly can.”

He demonstrated for Henry, swiveling his feet and his hips in one impossible, perfectly coordinated movement. Emma took a deep breath.

“When you sprint, keep your head down and then, maybe two or three steps away from the bag, that’s when you start your slide,” Killian continued. “Got it?”  
  
Henry nodded. “I think so.”   
  
“Try again.”

Henry took his place next to Killian, squatting down and dragging his fingers along the turf. “Wider legs,” Killian muttered, taking a step back, and Henry did as instructed. “Ready?” Henry nodded again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Now!”

Henry spun on the spot, turning towards his left and sprinting with the kind of speed Emma didn’t know a teenage kid could actually possess. “Down!” Killian yelled and Henry’s feet went out from underneath him, pushing his legs forward and sliding along the turf. He stuck his hand out – like he was actually tagging up – and earning himself a cheer of excitement from Killian.  
  
“How was that?” Henry asked, collapsing onto the turf so his back was flat on the ground.

“Good. Really good. Have you always been that fast?” Henry nodded and Emma saw Killian smile. _God_. “What did you think, Swan?” he asked, finally facing her, smile still on his face.

She stuttered for a moment – not realizing he knew she was there. “It was good,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice even. “You’re absurdly fast, Henry.”  
  
“I’ve always been fast,” he said from his position on the ground. Emma smiled, shaking her head slightly at the sight. “I was worried the ACL would mess it up, but it seems ok.”  
  
“Looked perfect to me.”

That got him to sit up. “You think?”

“I do,” Emma nodded. “And if Killian said you were good, then you must be. He knows what he’s talking about.”  
  
Killian threw a smile Emma’s direction and she met his eyes. Better-ish. It had gotten better-ish, but this whole afternoon may make it better flat-out.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Swan,” he said, taking a step towards her as he bent down to pick up the bat and ball near his feet.

“You hit yet?” she asked, nodding towards the empty cage nearby.

Killian shook his head. “Nah, figured we’d try something different before we started repeating ourselves.”

“You going to make Killian hit, Henry?” she asked, smiling towards the teenager still sitting on the turf. “I heard you were making a pretty good argument.”

“He said he doesn’t want to,” Henry said quickly, sounding a bit like one of Mary Margaret’s third graders. Emma just laughed.

“What? Why?” Killian glared at her, smile long gone.

“It’s not a good time, Swan.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, Killian,” Henry interrupted. “C’mon, you promised. You said you could hit when you played.”  
  
“He could hit,” Emma added, raising her eyebrows in challenge to Killian.

“Swan,” he muttered angrily, but Emma refused to back down. She had fucked up enough already that week. She wasn’t going to let Killian believe he was completely worthless, not when he could step into that cage and take back even a hint of self-confidence.

“What?” she asked, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Let Henry hit, it’s for him.”

“I can do it later,” Henry objected. “Just go one round.”

“Fine. Fine,” Killian mumbled, stalking towards the cage. Emma and Henry exchanged conspiratorial glances and he slammed the door closed behind him, hitting the button with far more force than was necessary.

“You’re not going to wear a helmet?” Emma asked.

“I don’t need a helmet, Swan,” he said softly, stepping into the box and squaring up. His left hand was barely wrapped around the bat. It didn’t matter.

He was right, he didn’t need the helmet. The ball never even had the chance to come near his head. He hit every single one.

Emma stared at him, wide-eyed while he connected on pitch after automated pitch, the muscles in his shoulders moving underneath his threadbare and undeniably ancient, college-age t-shirt. He fell into a rhythm easily, like it was as simple as breathing, his hips twisting with every single swing and his legs bent softly.

“So, uh,” Henry said softly, suddenly next to Emma. “He’s a lot better than he lets on, huh?” Emma nodded in stunned silence. “How come he stopped playing after college?”  
  
“Did he tell you that?”  
  
“He didn’t really tell me anything.”  
  
It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t her story to tell. But Emma couldn’t stand to let Killian shut himself down anymore.

“He got drafted third overall after his junior year,” Emma said as quickly as she could, keeping her eyes focused on Killian in the cage. “Made it to Triple-A before he got hurt.”

“Shit,” Henry muttered.

“Yeah. Listen, don’t say anything though, ok? He’s not big on talking about it.”  
  
“Ok.”

Killian slammed the bat into one last pitch – hitting it again with enough force that Emma was certain his hand must have been wrapped tightly around the bat as well. It wasn’t. He tossed the bat into the corner of the cage, running his right hand through his hair, before he turned around to stare expectantly at his audience.

“So?” he asked.

“You think you can teach me to hit like that?” Henry asked.

“That’s kind of the plan,” Killian answered and Emma saw some of the tension fall from his shoulders. “Swan?” he added, glancing at her.

“Yeah?”  
  
“We good now? No more of this?”

Emma heard the unspoken request there as well. _No more pushing_. She nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Alright,” Killian continued, pushing the door open and sinking onto the side of the sidewalk, nodding towards Henry and Emma to join him. “Let’s talk about this story and then, Henry, you can hit again, ok?”  
  
“Sure,” Henry said. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“Swan? Your move.”

Emma sat up a bit straighter and turned towards Henry, leaning around Killian to meet his eyes. “So, we talked about the eligibility and like I said, I think we’ve found a way around that. So I need you to talk to me about when you spoke to the state and got denied your appeal. They should have looked at the same box scores we did, that shouldn’t have happened.”  
  
Emma pulled her phone out of her bag and hit the record button, nodding encouraging towards Henry.

“Go ahead, Henry,” Killian said encouragingly when the teenager looked overcome with nerves. “Just tell us what happened.”  
  
Henry nodded. “Ok, so, I got hurt about a year ago.”

“Date,” Emma clarified. “Give me a date.”

“September,” Henry said quickly. “And I wasn’t able to actually go back to school. But my foster parents weren’t all that interested in doing the homeschooling thing, so I kind of missed out on my senior year. I knew I was going to have to repeat the year and I knew I’d need that year to get into college.”

Emma nodded, trying to get Henry to keep talking. “So how’d you end up talking to the state about playing baseball?”

“I had to get a special waiver to come back to school,” Henry explained. “And they asked if there were any extracurriculars I was in before I got hurt. I told them about baseball and they said I’d have I’d have to talk to the Board of Education and the public school league to get a special exemption to come back to that as well.”

The story went on forever.

Henry talked for nearly 10 minutes straight, detailing the ins-and-outs of the New York City public schools system and their inability to look into his situation with anything more than a passing glance.

His guidance counselor had done most of the work – a woman Henry called Ariel – spending hours throughout the last few months talking to city and state officials, trying to explain what had happened.

Not one of them had listened.  
  
“And what did Ariel say when they denied your last appeal?” Emma asked.

“She said I should think about getting a lawyer.”  
  
Killian laughed and rolled his eyes. “Where does she think you’re going to find a lawyer?”  
  
“Killian,” Emma said softly, a warning in her voice, but Henry just shook his head.

“No, Emma, he’s right. This is the only thing that could work. I can’t sue the city. I just want to play baseball again.”  
  
“Why?” Emma asked, suddenly. Henry stared at her.

“Huh?” he said.

“Why do you want to play baseball again so badly? Why not give up?”  
  
“I can’t do that,” Henry answered, sounding as if Emma had possibly lost her mind. Killian threw her a knowing smile, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Why not?” Emma pressed.

Henry took a deep breath and nodded once, like he was psyching himself up. “Baseball is my life,” he said simply. “I grew up with a bat in my hand. It was cheap, you know? I didn’t need anything but the bat and a ball and, trust me, that was all I was going to get. I didn’t even get cleats until I was 13. But I loved the game. Always. Even when I had the shittiest equipment of anyone on my team.

Baseball is simple. Hit the ball and run. Catch the ball and throw them out. There’s order to baseball. I haven’t had much of that ever really. And I’m pretty good. I think, well I hope, I could get better too. I could play at college. Then I’d get a degree and maybe I could move out.”

Emma nodded, hitting the record button again. She had gotten what she wanted.

She glanced over at Killian to find him moving the fingers on his left hand, flexing them slightly. Emma didn’t think before she moved, didn’t consider how _wrong_ it would be – after everything she had done and said in the last week – but she didn’t care. She reached her hand out and entwined her fingers with Killian’s.

His whole body stiffened next to her. Emma didn’t let go. Neither did he.

Henry was delightfully oblivious.

“Was that ok, Emma?” he asked, sounding like the kid Emma sometimes forgot he was.

“Better. We’re going to make this work, Henry.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“I know.” It was the first time she had promised him anything and Emma met Henry’s smile with one of her own. Killian hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Why don’t you go hit, Henry?” Killian asked, speaking for the first time in what seemed like hours.

“Right now?”  
  
“If you want.”

“Sure!” Henry was gone seconds later, grabbing the helmet in front of the cage and slamming the door shut behind him. Emma could hear the machine starting, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Killian was staring at her hand.

“You said you weren’t going to promise him anything,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Emma said slowly. “I just can’t let him down. I’m going to get him back on the field and into a school if I have to take on the entire city myself.”

“The entire city?”  
  
“If I have to.”

“Not by yourself, you won’t.”

“No?” Emma whispered. He squeezed her hand.

“No,” Killian repeated. “Never.”

Emma’s heart stuttered and she pulled her hand away from his, ignoring the barely audible sigh that escaped his lips. She was an idiot. She couldn't do this.

She suddenly wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t on that pier.

Killian stood up quickly, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Swan,” he said, facing away from her.

“What for?”

“Overstepping.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”  
  
“Feels like I should.” He turned around and one side of his mouth was pulled up in a slightly nervous attempt at a smile.

“No,” Emma objected. “Don’t. It’s ok, Killian. We’re not very good at this.”  
  
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Maybe we’ve both got things to work on, huh?”  
  
“Probably. But in the meantime we can still do _this_ , right?” she asked, nodding towards her phone and Henry’s recorded quotes.

“Of course we can Swan. Henry’s going to play again. We can take on the city together.” He smiled at her, eyebrows raised and Emma ignored the flutter of hope in her stomach. Killian reached out his hand and Emma grabbed it, letting him pull her up. He spun her around slightly and Emma glanced at Henry in the cage, still swinging.

“How’d that look?” he shouted, not taking his eye off the next pitch.

“If you don’t tighten your wrists more, I’m going to tape them straight,” Killian answered, earning a low chuckle out of Henry as he swung again.

He hit the next pitch.

Killian opened his mouth to gloat, but Henry beat him to it. “Shut up!” he yelled. “I know. I know. I’ll keep my wrists tight.”

“You better,” Killian muttered under his breath and, this time, it was Emma laughing. “Not you too, Swan,” he said, nudging her shoulder slightly.

Emma shrugged. “How come you don’t coach?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Coach? Or something? You know what you’re doing. You’ve got experience. You’re clearly good at this. Why not?”   
  
“When would I find the time, love?”  
  
Emma bit her lip, ignoring the _love_ and the way her pulse skipped a beat in response to it. She had told him to stop calling her that and, for the most part, he did. Except when he got comfortable. In those moments, when they were just Killian and Emma again and they weren’t stressed out or worried about what they meant to one another, he called her _love_ and Emma couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop.

“I don’t know,” she continued. “Just seems like something you’d enjoy.”  
  
“Eh, I don’t know,” he objected. “Seems like a pretty solid pathway to wallowing. Lost glory and could-have-been, should-have-been me's.”  
  
“That’s not like you,” Emma said with conviction. Killian looked at her skeptically. “It’s not.”

“I have a tendency to relapse.” Emma felt deflated. She had done that. Killian noticed her face and sighed. “Hey,” he said quickly, turning towards her. “We don’t do that whole pity thing, right?”  
  
“It wasn’t pity.”  
  
“No?”   
  
“No, not for you at least.”   
  
“I don’t want you to feel bad.”   
  
“It’s way too late for that.”

“You did what you thought you had to.”  
  
“And you’re suddenly cool with that?”

Emma’s mind at screaming at her to _shut the fuck up_ , but she couldn’t. She was needling at week-old wounds with a flaming hot poker and she couldn’t stop herself from doing it. Killian made a face.

“Loaded question,” he accused.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Killian said quickly. “I just don’t know that I have an answer for you.”

“That’s fair.”

“You asked me on Monday if you thought we could still be friends.”  
  
“I was worried you wouldn't want to,” Emma said softly.

“I think that’s the only thing I _know_ I want.” He stared at her, eyes wide as the rhythmic sound of the batting cage beat on in the background. “I know I fucked up Swan, but you’re still important, well, to me, you know? I don’t want that to change.”  
  
He had fucked up. The words rang in Emma’s head like Henry was hitting them in. He thought he had fucked up. Emma swallowed once, trying to push down the wave of emotion that was threatening to drown her.

“I don’t want that to change either,” she said softly.

He smiled at her and Emma pushed her feet into the gravel underneath her. She couldn’t hug him. _Or kiss him_. That would be a whole mess of mixed signals.

“C’mon Swan,” he muttered, nodding towards a waiting Henry. “Let’s go change city sports.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about as angsty as we're going to get. Well, no, that's actually a lie. There's more angst to come, but this as angsty as we're going to get on this particular subject. So there is a light at the end of this very slow burning tunnel. We're going to be pretty focused on Henry's storyline for a little while and how Emma and Killian are going to get him to play baseball again ~together~. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this one. I can't say how much I appreciate everything. Feel free to come flail on Tumblr too: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	31. Chapter 31

The e-mail came two weeks later.

Emma heard the simultaneous ding come from her phone and her laptop and groaned at the noise.

Isaac.

To: [emma.swan@recordsports.com ](mailto:emma.swan@recordsports.com); [killian.jones@recordsports.com](mailto:killian.jones@recordsports.com)

From: [isaac.hayes@record.com](mailto:isaac.hayes@record.com)

Subject: Filming

Afternoon you two,

I wanted to touch base with both of you in regards to our next round of filming. I’d like to start again tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, but I think we’d be missing the metaphorical boat if we didn’t get a jump on the football season.

It’s criminal to make you two come in early, but if we do this in the morning we can get it up on the site that afternoon and get the ball rolling as quickly as possible, we can rake in the hits throughout the weekend.

So, 9:00 AM tomorrow in the studio, to talk football – pro and college? That’s up to you two. Separate videos for pro and college?! I’m spitballing now, but it might not be a bad idea to do two. Double the hit possibility, right?

Yes? Yes. YES.

Ok, let’s do that.

We can still do both tomorrow. I’ll see you two then. This is going to be big.

  * Isaac



 

Emma sighed again and grabbed her phone off her desk, stuffing it in her pocket and practically sprinting across the office floor.  
  
“Where you going, Emma?” Walsh asked as she ran in front of his desk.

She ignored him. She ignored Lisa the receptionist as well, pushing open Killian’s office door and skidding to a stop in front of his desk.

“You alright, Swan?” he asked, rising slightly. Emma shook her hand, breathing heavier than she should have for a quick sprint across the sports floor of _The New York Record_ , and pointed dramatically at his computer.

He raised his eyebrows, but Emma kept her finger pointed at the machine. It took him less than a full minute to read Isaac’s e-mail and another two seconds to slide down his chair slightly, his hair sticking up over the back of it.

“You need a haircut,” Emma said.

“Five minutes in this office and _that’s_ the first thing you decide to tell me?”  
  
“I’ve hardly been in here for five minutes.”

Killian leveled her with a look that screamed _please_ at her and Emma scowled. “Did you read it?” she asked.

“You don’t think my hair looks good?”  
  
“That didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“Neither did your answer.” Emma sighed and crossed her arms. “Sit,” he said. “You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

“I’m making _you_ nervous?” She sat down anyway.

“When you’re standing there, lording over this office, yes, Swan, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m not lording,” Emma muttered.

“You just have comments about my hair.”  
  
“It was one comment!”

He smirked at her and Emma rolled her eyes – he was trying to get a rise out of her. It had worked. “Still haven’t answered my question.”  
  
“I didn’t say it looked bad,” Emma sad. “Just that maybe a haircut wouldn’t be out of place.”  
  
“Noted,” Killian said. “But I’m assuming that’s why you didn’t come rushing in here?”  
  
“You read it, you tell me.”  
  
“It’ll be fine,” he shrugged.

That caught her up short. Emma sat up quickly and leaned towards his desk. He leaned right back. Somewhere along the line he had gotten some of his confidence back.

Or at least his air of confidence.

They were bantering, settling into the kind of comfortable conversation that made Isaac so excited to get them on camera to begin with. And it had definitely gotten better. It had, somehow, almost become easy again. 

 _He’s flirting with you_. Emma ignored that part of her brain and focused on Killian’s eyes and the curve of his mouth as he smirked at her. That didn’t help.

She didn’t want this. Of course not. Absolutely not. 

She walked away. She pushed Killian away, back into his small and comfortable friendship box that she could control. For some reason though, Emma had never felt more out of control in her entire life.

“It’ll be fine Swan,” he repeated, a bit more forcefully. She nodded distractedly, glancing around the office, desperately trying to find something that centered her. “You know that, right? Why wouldn’t it be?”

Emma looked back on him, locking her eyes with him and felt herself centered on blue and a whole slew of emotions she had spent the last three weeks trying desperately to avoid.

God.

“It’s just a lot of work.”  
  
“We’ve done that before.”

She hung onto the word _we’ve_ with every fiber of her metaphorical being and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true. Sorry, I don’t know, I guess it just threw me for a loop.”  
  
“You?”

“It’s been known to happen from time to time.”

He made a face and Emma was certain _something_ had clicked in his head, but it passed as soon as she thought she had seen it and he was back to smirking at her again. “I doubt it Swan.” He paused for a moment, appraising Emma for a beat before asking his next question.

“Do you want to plan some stuff later? Talking points and whatnot? We should probably have some plan of attack right?”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Emma agreed. “I can come back here in a few hours.”  
  
“Actually,” he said, glancing up at her and Emma could feel his nervous energy. It was practically buzzing in her ears. “I thought maybe we could go somewhere else.”  
  
“Yeah? Where? You know Jerry is gone by five at the latest.”  
  
“I didn’t mean that.”  
  
“You’re stalling.”  
  
Killian made a face and Emma just raised her eyebrows in wait. “Well I’m going to leave here in a few hours and I thought, if you wanted, we could plan while we eat. I’m pretty good at making food, you know.”

“What?” Emma gaped at him and she watched Killian’s face slowly fall.

“It was just an idea,” he said, tugging on the hair behind his ear. “You don’t have to. We can just play it by ear tomorrow. We know what we’re talking about, it’ll be fine.”  
  
Emma wasn’t sure when she had stopped breathing, only that she could feel her lungs burning. She reached out quickly and pulled his hand down. Everything she had done in the last three weeks flew in the face of what she was about to do, but Emma didn’t care. She couldn’t let him sit there with that look on his face and this feeling in her gut.

“Hey,” she muttered, squeezing his hand. “I think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “Just threw me for a loop.”  
  
Killian laughed and Emma pretended not to feel the _swoop_ of her stomach at the sound. “I’ll head over to your side of the office when I’m done and then we can head home.” She also ignored how nice it was to hear him say _home_ and _we_ in the same sentence.

“Sounds like a plan,” she squeaked out before she could say something she’d regret.

* * *

He showed up at her desk at 8 o’clock sharp, his bag slung over his shoulder and a slightly nervous smile on his face.

“Ready, Swan?” Killian asked.

“Sure,” she answered, closing her laptop and piling into her bag with several notebooks and a charger.

“Do you horde notebooks?”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. “No. I just, you know, have some. It’s responsible!”  
  
“I’m not debating that. It just seems like a lot.”  
  
“Whatever,” Emma sighed, standing up and walking around her desk to stand in front of him. “So, where are we going?”

“Was that not obvious before?”

He was doing this on purpose. Emma was sure of it. He was just trying to get her to react. _He was flirting with her_.

“I’m not a mind reader. I don’t automatically have the directions to your apartment pre-programmed into my brain.”

That made him laugh. “Cab, train or walking?”  
  
“Train.”

Killian smiled and nodded towards the sports floor doors. “Train it is. We need to get some food though.”  
  
“You always offer to cook girls dinner without actually having any food to cook with?”  
  
“I don’t often offer to cook girls dinner,” he said, not missing a beat as he started walking away from her. “And, to be fair, Swan, you’re not exactly some girl.”

He was halfway out the door already while Emma stood there gaping at him slightly. He was too charming. And she was falling for it hook, line and sinker. Again.

Emma shook her head slightly, like she was trying to wake herself up, and walked quickly to meet Killian in the elevator lobby. “That is true,” she said softly, pushing the button next to him. He glanced at her raising, his eyebrows slightly. “So, you have anything you’re particularly good at cooking?”  
  
“You’ll have to wait and see Swan.”

An hour later and Emma was walking out of the Whole Foods on Murray Street with Killian a step behind her, practically loaded down with bags. “I really don’t think you need this much food,” Emma said speculatively, looking over her shoulder at him.

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I haven’t bought food in weeks.”  
  
“How do you eat?”  
  
“Takeout,” he said simply, before knowingly adding, “we don’t all have Mary Margaret’s to feed us day in and day out.”

“Sometimes I wonder if she secretly believes it’s her job to take care of me.”

“Of course she does.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Swan,” Killian said slowly, nodding his head to direct her down the next block. “Mary Margaret – and David too, for that matter – are your family. It’s more than just being your friend or your roommate. They want to help. That’s what family’s doo.”

“Did David tell you that?” Emma asked suspiciously, skidding to a stop as Killian grabbed the back of her shirt.

“We’re here,” he said, ignoring her question and walking up the steps towards the glass double doors of what appeared to be an absurdly nice building. He really did live five blocks away.

Emma stared at him as he set down the bags and pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. He had taken to wearing leather again. “What?” he asked.

“Nice house,” Emma mumbled.

“It’s not like it’s all mine.” He swung open the door, kicking it slightly as he grabbed all the bags again. “C’mon Swan, the building won’t bite you.”

Emma groaned, but followed him, just a few steps behind as he turned and hit the button on the elevator. “You live in a building with an actual elevator? Sure beats my walk-up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your walk-up,” he argued, stepping into the elevator. It only took a few seconds before they had reached his floor and Killian walked down the hall, Emma trailing along behind. She gasped when he opened the door.

It was gorgeous.

Emma knew apartments like this existed in New York, but she was almost certain she’d never see them – at least not in person. They had walked into a small living room and Emma found herself face-to-face with three giant windows that looked out towards the East River. There was a hallway next to her and Emma assumed a bedroom and bathroom existed at the end of it.

She turned slightly, staring at Killian in the kitchen – the room just off to her left – as he pulled food out of the bags and stuffed them in cabinets. He flicked on the oven as he walked by and swung open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle.

“Afraid I only have wine Swan, no rum or anything,” he said, moving at the speed of light as he poured the wine into two glasses Emma hadn’t even seen him get.

They were on his turf now and Killian was in his element. Emma was decidedly not.

“I don’t really need any wine,” she said quickly, taking a step towards the kitchen counter. Killian, finally, looked up at her, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked. He looked at her, finally meeting her eyes. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“It’s just if we’re going to work later, I don’t really want wine.”  
  
“Nuh uh, that’s not what I meant.”  
  
“What did you mean?”  
  
“You look like you’ve been stunned. What’s going on?”  
  
_Open book_. Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting this?”  
  
"Was that a question?" Killian eyed her, clearly confused. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“This apartment is gorgeous.”

He smiled at her and Emma leaned her elbows on the counter, resting her head on one hand. “Thanks,” he muttered, crossing his arms slowly. “Is that a bad thing?”  
  
Emma shook her head. “No,” she answered quickly. “Like I said, I just wasn’t expecting this? It’s kind of enormous for just you isn’t?”  
  
“What exactly are you suggesting, Swan?”  
  
“Nothing.” She shrugged, standing up straight again. “How did you end up here?”

Killian didn’t answer immediately, kneeling down to pull a pan out of the cabinet and Emma did her best to wait patiently. He had his back to her when he started talking again. “Ok,” he said slowly, spraying oil on the pan. “So you remember I said Liam worked to keep the apartment we grew up in?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well that apartment, to put it lightly, was fairly shitty. I mean, it was home, so that was nice, but it was also just a step above city housing. It was important that we had it, but both of us knew if we could _get out_ , it mean that we had made something of ourselves. Despite the obstacles.”  
  
“So that’s what this is then? A showpiece?”

Killian tossed the chicken they had bought in the pan and Emma flinched at the hissing sound as it started to cook.He glanced over his shoulder at her and made a face. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Why so big then?”

“Excuse me?”  
  
“Why is the apartment so big?”  
  
“Your apartment is bigger than this.”

“Two people live there,” Emma argued. “Well, three, really. David just doesn’t pay rent.”  
  
“Is that ever going to change you think? Seems only fair. Does he even go back to his own apartment anymore?”  
  
“You’re trying to change the subject.”  
  
“I’m genuinely curious,” Killian countered, putting a cover on top of the pan and turning to face Emma, eyebrows raised again.

“Journalist,” she accused. He just shrugged his shoulders, waiting for her to answer. Emma sighed. “I do think it’s going to change soon.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And how much are you dreading that moment in time?”  
  
Emma’s shoulders sagged and she sighed again, disappointed that he could read her so well. Or, more specifically, that he _knew_ her so well.

“Maybe more than I should,” Emma admitted. “They’re going to want their own space.”  
  
“Not for awhile I’m sure.”

“I appreciate the attempts at positivity, but we both know that isn’t true. I’ve been waiting for David to propose on Christmas Eve and/or New Year’s for the last three years. And I have it on reliable sources that he asked his mom about getting his grandmother’s ring out of storage sooner rather than later.”  
  
“Who are your reliable sources?” Killian laughed, stepping back into the living room and sinking into the corner of the couch. He nodded towards Emma and she sat down a few inches away from him.

“Elsa,” Emma said, laughing slightly to herself.

“Of course.”

Emma shrugged. “She’s very well informed for someone who doesn’t live in that town anymore.”

“How is the job going?”

“Good, actually. Really good.” Emma fell into the role of supportive older sister very easily and she hadn't quite realized how much she'd missed talking to Killian. “She found her own apartment and there’s this Michigan alumni group that helps like network or something. It’s all very political.”  
  
“What is that she’s doing exactly?”

He kept asking questions, but it didn’t feel like an interview. Not when he looked genuinely interested, that stupid small smile on his face like he was encouraging Emma to keep talking. So she did.

“She’s working in the mayor’s office,” Emma answered, the note of pride in her voice clear with every single word. “She’s basically running their social media accounts, sending out updates on the policies and stuff like that. It’s not really my thing, the political stuff, but Elsa loves it.”

“Do you think she’d ever run?”  
  
“For office?” Killian nodded and Emma shook her head immediately. “Not unless she was absolutely forced into it. Elsa despises being the center of attention. She doesn’t cope well, probably all those years of her parents tell her she wasn’t good enough for anything.”

Killian made an understanding face and Emma widened her eyes in silent question. “Explains your protective nature,” he said.

“She’s my sister.”  
  
“I’m not questioning it, Swan. Just saying you have a tendency to be rather vocally protective of those you care about. Only an observation.”

Emma straightened her shoulders slightly, trying to ease the tension that had slowly crept in between them. They were treading on some seriously thin ice and the realization hit her suddenly – Killian wasn’t entirely sure she cared about him anymore.

“You’re not wrong,” she said softly, eyes flicking towards Killian. He pressed his lips together tightly and tried to smile, but he looked almost as uncomfortable as Emma felt.

They sat silent for a moment before Killian spoke again, making Emma jump slightly. “You know you won’t be alone right, Swan?”

“What do you mean?”

“When David proposes to Mary Margaret. That doesn’t mean they’re going to walk out of you life.”

“Yeah, I know,” Emma said quickly. “But it won’t be the same. I’ve lived with Mary Margaret since I was 18 years old. We’ve always been this mini-family. They’re going to want that with each other eventually.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean they’ll cut you out.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be front and center either.”

Killian eyed her for a moment and took a deep breath. “You’re so certain everything will end badly.”

“That’s how most things usually play out.” He sighed and shook his head slightly, but didn’t push the issue anymore. Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek slightly, trying to come up with some way to change the subject.

“Why were you accosting the 12th Street librarian when you were a kid?” she asked suddenly, words practically spilling out of her.

“Excuse me?”

“In the book,” Emma explained. “The one in the darkroom? It said you were accosting librarians on 12th Street, trying to get _Treasure Island_ every other week. Why?”  
  
Killian laughed – loudly – the movement making his whole body move so that his head was leaning on the back of the couch. Emma couldn’t help but smile. “Liam exaggerated,” he said when he finally stopped laughing.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” she argued. “You can be pretty persuasive when you want to be.”  
  
“That so?” he asked, eyebrows moving up and down quickly as he smirked at her.

“You know it is. C’mon tell me, why _Treasure Island_. If you’re looking for lost islands and pirates wouldn’t _Peter Pan_ be more on point?”

“Peter Pan was an entitled child who didn’t understand anything about anything.”

“That’s a rather direct opinion.”  
  
“And the only acceptable one when it comes to that nonsense.”

“Ok, no _Peter Pan_ ,” Emma laughed, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Still haven’t answered my question.”  
  
“Jim Hawkins was a real hero,” Killian answered like it was obvious. “He worked hard. He got a job on the _Hispaniola_ and he does his best to defeat the mutiny. Not bad for a kid. Plus, Long John Silver is a fantastic pirate.”

“You know I’ve only ever seen the Disney version,” Emma admitted, earning herself a disappointed look from Killian.

“You’re kidding me. That’s not even the real story. Aren’t there cyborgs involved?”  
  
“It takes place in outer space. That version of Jim Hawkins isn’t bad looking either.”

“He’s a cartoon, Swan,” Killian groaned and Emma just laughed.

“Does _Muppet Treasure Island_ count?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then we seem to be at an impasse.”

The oven buzzer sounded from the kitchen and Killian was still shaking his head as he walked back towards the stove, muttering something about _cartoon characters_ and _felt puppets_. Emma smiled.

Twenty minutes later they were both on the couch again, plates of food in front of them and a notebook in Emma’s hand. “You can eat first, Swan,” Killian said, stabbing his own food with a fork. “I don’t think the list is time sensitive.”

“That’s not true.”  
  
“Ok, not immediately time sensitive.”  
  
“I just don’t want us to get distracted.” Killian made a face again, taking a dramatic bite of food and Emma glared at him. “Shut up,” she muttered.

“Eat,” he repeated.

Emma rolled her eyes, but took a bite of her food nonetheless. He wasn’t lying – he really was good at this. He was good at everything.

“Ok?” he asked and Emma tried to ignore the tone of his voice. He wasn’t good at that.

“Better,” Emma replied honestly. “This is really good. Why don’t you cook more? You might be able to give M’s a run for her money.”  
  
“That is a compliment and also a lie. Mary Margaret is far more talented than I am. The only reason I can do any of this is out sheer necessity. I’ve done a fairly good job of making sure I don’t starve. To answer your other question, I don’t because I rarely have time. Or I don’t care about making actual food. Take your pick.”

“Seems like an awful waste.”

Killian shrugged. Emma kept eating, trying to avoid realizations of him having no one to cook for and her own status as _important_ or something equally sentimental. She couldn’t afford to get distracted like that.

“Ok,” she said, hoping to infuse some sense of authority in her voice. “What do you want to talk about tomorrow? College or pro first.”  
  
“Your call Swan. I couldn’t care less.”  
  
“Let’s get college out of the way first.” Killian shrugged noncommittally and stabbed his fork into the chicken again. “What do you think? Preseason rankings, first-week matchups to watch, top players and then maybe playoff speculation if we have time?”  
  
“That makes sense. Maybe add first-year coaches in there too.”  
  
“Oh that’s a good idea, actually.”  
  
“They put me in charge for a reason.” Emma rolled her eyes and started writing, moving her fork into the other hand so she could keep eating while she worked.

“Relax Swan,” he muttered, staring at her with amusement. “No one’s taking the food away.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush immediately and set her down quickly. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Old habit,” she said quickly. “You eat as fast as you can or the other kids in the foster home tend to steal your food. I’ve never been able to shake it. Used to drive Ingrid insane.”

Killian looked embarrassed as well and Emma tugged on the end of her hair, trying to smile. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be. It’s fine. Like I said, it’s an old habit.”

He nodded slowly and took a deep breath, pushing some of the rice on his plate around slightly. “What do you want to do about the NFL?” he asked after a few more moments. Emma let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and smiled at him gratefully, thankful that he didn’t ask anymore questions.

“Same thing as the college, but maybe a bit more in depth? I’d rather spend some more time on the pros than on college if we’re being honest. There’s not really a college draw in the city unless you want to talk about Fordham.”  
  
“I do not want to talk about Fordham.”

“Neither do I, so that works out well.”

“Ok,” Killian said. “Add a section on the Giants and the Jets specifically too. Fair warning that I got a follow-up e-mail from Isaac about wanting to do videos with the beat writers for each team as well.”

“Why would he want me on those videos?” Emma asked, legitimately confused. “It’s not like I’m beat on either of those teams.”  
  
Killian made a face. “To be honest, Swan, I’m not even sure what I’m doing on these videos, but they get hits and that’s the only thing the higher-ups care about. It’s a money thing. Ads and all that.”  
  
“That’s depressing.”  
  
“That’s journalism.”

“Cynic,” she muttered, adding the latest ideas to the list.

“Realist,” he countered. “You should know realism when you see it, Swan. Isn’t that your mo?”

Emma raised one eyebrow and did her best to quell the immediate anger she felt shoot through her. She wouldn’t get mad. She wouldn’t push him away. She took a deep breath and put the notebook down on the table, grabbing her plate and walking towards the kitchen.

She could hear him follow her. Emma spun around, eyebrow still raised, to star at Killian. He had his own plate in his right hand, but his left hand was raised in mock-surrender to her.

“You should just punch me when I say shit like that,” he said quietly.  
  
“I don’t know that would do much damage,” Emma answered. Killian chuckled slightly under her breath.

“Still, no excuse to be an ass.”  
  
“Didn’t you say it was easier that way?”  
  
Killian gazed at her, licking his lips quickly and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“Thanks for the food.”  
  
“Thanks for putting up with me in a supermarket. I know it’s a lot to deal with.”  
  
Emma’s almost immediately forgot her anger – he wasn’t wrong. He had compared and contrasted each and every item he bought, staring at labels until Emma sighed dramatically behind him and all but forced him to put food in the cart.

It had been infuriating and adorable and _painfully_ domestic. Emma tried not to read too much into it.

“You’re, just, you know, thorough,” Emma said. “Or something.”  
  
“Or something.” He took a step towards her, just a few inches away and Emma was almost certain she could feel the heat radiating off his body. That led to a whole other string of thoughts – as far away from the supermarket spectrum as it possibly could be.  
  
“I should probably go,” Emma mumbled, not meeting Killian’s eyes as she talked.

“You want some company?”  
  
“It’s five blocks.” She wasn’t sure why she was arguing. She knew she would probably lose.

“Swan,” he said seriously.

“What?”  
  
“I’m not entirely concerned with the distance.”  
  
“What are you concerned with then?”

“You getting home, obviously”  
  
“Five. Blocks. It’s five blocks.”

Killian shook his head, walking back towards the door and grabbing Emma’s coat. He tossed it to her and she picked it out of the air one-handed, earning herself a low whistle of approval. “Should be at first base,” he said, smiling appreciatively at her.

“Don’t they put the shitty athletes at first?”

“Nah, that’s just a rumor.”  
  
“Somehow I feel like you’re patronizing me,” Emma said, sliding her arms into the jacket.

“Would I do that, Swan?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
Killian’s eyebrows seemed to move of their own accord and he tilted his head as he looked at Emma. “Come on, let me walk you home.”

“You kicking me out?”  
  
“Who’s patronizing who now?”

Emma laughed, walking towards the door and out towards the elevator, with Killian not far behind her.

* * *

She walked into the office the next day, video-list in her bag and a renewed sense of determination coursing through her system. They were going to film back-to-back so Emma had come in early to drop her stuff off at her desk before heading up to the studio.

There wasn’t anyone else on the sports floor, but Emma could see something sitting on her desk as soon as she stepped through the doors. She narrowed her eyes as she walked up, tossing her bag next to her chair and gasping slightly when she realized what it was.

 _Treasure Island_. Or, more specifically, Killian’s _Treasure Island_.

Jeez.

There was note. Of course there was a note.

_Swan,_

_After wounding me with your Disney and Muppet comparisons last night, I figured it was only right that you too have the opportunity to realize the importance of Treasure Island. I won’t even discredit any sort of attraction to the literary-version of Jim Hawkins. I promise to only tease slightly. I just want you to read it._

Emma smiled, flipping open the book and staring at Liam’s inscription inside. His handwriting was almost identical to Killian’s. She folded the note carefully, pressing the edges of the paper together slowly and putting the paper in her blazer pocket.

She absolutely _wasn’t_ going to keep it. She was just holding onto it for now. For on-camera luck. Or something.

Definitely something.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Emma Swan, I’m a reporter at _The New York Record_. I was calling because I’m looking into an appeal case for a student at Beacon.”  
  
“What kind of appeal?” The voice on the other end of the line was not particularly friendly. That was alright. Emma didn’t need to be friendly. She just needed a quote.

“What did you say your name was?” Emma asked, ignoring the voice’s question.

“I didn’t.”  
  
“Maybe you’d like to.”  
  
“I absolutely would not.”  
  
Emma took a deep breath, closing her eyes slightly and pushing her hair behind her ears. “Ok, fine. Listen, is there someone I can talk to you would like to tell me their name?”  
  
“Only after you tell me what this phone call is about.”  
  
“Ok,” Emma said slowly. “Like I said, I’m Emma Swan. I’m a sports reporter.”  
  
“Sports?”  
  
She nodded again – well aware that the only people who could see her were the few other reporters on _The Record_ sports floor. “Yes,” Emma said. “For _The New York Record_. Calling about an appeal that your office denied. Kid named Henry Davidson. He played baseball at Beacon two years ago.”  
  
“Well,” the voice said, sounding a bit like Emma had lost her mind. “If he’s already been denied, then I’m not entirely sure what you hope to accomplish with this phone call Ms. Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“I hope to accomplish quite a bit actually. I’d like to find out why his appeal was denied. And I’m still looking for your name.”

The voice sighed dramatically and Emma rolled her eyes again, noticing a movement in front of her desk. Killian, eyebrows raised and a slightly amused smile on his face. “My name is Cruella,” the voice responded, sounding a bit like they were in pain.

“Cruella?”

Killian’s head snapped towards Emma and she realized, suddenly, that meant something. _What_ she mouthed.

“Keep her talking,” Killian whispered quickly. “She’ll give you something.”  
  
“You asked for my name,” Cruell snapped. “And that’s it. Now, what exactly is that you want to know about this Henry Davidson?”

“He got hurt last year. Badly. Broke his leg and couldn’t play his senior year, actually missed the entire school year because of the injury. So he tried to appeal his eligibility and _your_ office denied him. I’m trying to figure out why.”

“I don’t have a single idea about any of that.”

Emma did her best not groan and Killian nodded encouragingly, leaning on the side of her desk. “Talk, Swan,” he muttered.

“There have to be files, right?” Emma pressed. “Copies of the appeal and the denial? That’s public record, right?”

Killian beamed. Cruella was silent for what felt like hours and Emma knew she had something. “How do I get a copy of those records?” she asked.

“You call me.”  
  
“Well, look at that. We’re already talking and everything. I’d like to formally request a copy of both of them – Henry’s appeal and your office’s denial.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
“I think you’re legally required to do that.” Cruella clicked her tongue in disapproval and Emma smiled, glancing at Killian who was still looking at her like she had figured out the daily lottery numbers a day in advance.

“And you’re sure you don’t know why Henry’s appeal got denied?” Emma asked again, pressing her luck slightly. “As far as I can tell his eligibility wasn’t up. He should have had one more yet left.”

Cruella paused again and Emma bit her lip. “He missed last year,” she finally answered. That wasn’t good enough. “So he’s out of high school years.”  
  
“He didn’t even go to school last year!”  
  
“Wouldn’t matter.”

Emma’s eyes widened and she lunged forward, reaching out to grab a notebook. Killian moved off her desk, turning around to face her as Emma’s pen raced across the paper. “Why not?” Emma asked.

“Four years,” Cruella said quickly. “You get four years. That’s it. No more. No matter what.”

Emma copied her words down and heard Killian laugh darkly, staring at the sheet of paper underneath her hand. “Even when he didn’t play four years? That doesn’t make any sense!”  
  
“Four. Years.”

“Listen, I’ve looked at the rules and I get what you’re saying. But Henry got hurt. He never got his fourth year. He deserves a chance to play again!”  
  
“Four. Years. He was a freshman five years ago. That means he doesn’t get another season. No matter what.”

“No matter what?” Emma hissed.

“No matter what,” Cruella repeated. Emma looked up at Killian, trying to figure out what to do next. He shrugged. “You still want the records?”  
  
“Of course. Send them to _The New York Record_ office.”  
  
“You’re entitled to the information, I suppose.”  
  
“Just like Henry is entitled to play baseball again.”

Cruella laughed into the phone and Emma glared at the empty space in front of her. “Sure he is, doesn’t change the fact that he won’t.”  
  
“Yeah?” Emma bit back. “You might want to read the newspaper in a few days then. That may change a few things.”  
  
She hung up before Cruella could come up with anything – or mutter _off the record_ – and Emma groaned, leaning her head back against her chair and closing her eyes. She threw the phone down on her desk, earning a questioning look from Killian.

“The read the paper at the end was a fantastic way to end that particular exchange, love. Very _His Girl Friday_ of you,” Killian said, one eyebrow raised and a smile on his face.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Heat of the moment and whatnot,” she muttered, sitting up straight again.

“No, I liked it.”  
  
“How did you know her?”  
  
“Oh, well Cruella has worked for the public school system for years. I haven’t ever been able to figure out why. She _hates_ kids. Does her best to keep anyone from getting anything they want.”

“But you said she’d talk.”  
  
“And she did.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
Killian’s eyes flicked between Emma’s face and the scribbled notes in front of her. “She can’t help it,” he said. “She likes to lord her power a bit, you know? So when you kept asking questions, she kept giving answers. Almost like she was proving how important she was. Dug herself into a hole. She’s been doing the same thing for years.”

Emma made a face, tilting her mouth down slightly to indicate she was impressed. “Look who knows how to work people,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off every word.

Killian didn’t miss a beat. He rolled his eyes back at her and leaned back against the desk. “It’s been known to happen from time to time.”

“So what do we do now?” Emma asked.

“You write.”

Emma grinned at him, pulling the notebook back towards her and immediately starting to write a list. “I can do that.”

“I have absolutely no doubt.”

“I have another idea.” Killian widened his eyes in question and Emma pushed forward. “I think we should talk to a lawyer.”

“For?”

“Help?”  
  
“What could a lawyer help with?”  
  
“Well, I know Henry didn’t ask for it, but – now stick with me on this one – I know someone.”  
  
“You know someone?”  
  
Emma sighed dramatically and stuck her pen in her hair. “Yes, I know someone. Or rather someone who knows someone...and someone else. Maybe.”  
  
“You’re not making any sense, Swan.”

“See, this is why I said to stick with me. Ok, so, Elsa had this friend at school. Roommate, best friend, the whole nine yards.” Killian rolled his eyes at the sports pun and Emma pointedly ignored him. It wasn’t baseball. It didn’t count.

“Her name is Anna. She’s working in the public defender’s office now. So, see, I’ve got two ins.”

“Two?”

Emma nodded. “Well, through El, obviously. But also David. He’s talked to her a couple of times in the last few weeks since she started because of his work with the department. I think she could help. Legally. Or something.”  
  
“Or something,” he repeated, the ends of his mouth ticking up slightly as he looked at her.

“I’d have to double check with David, but I think we could pull it off. And maybe even get Henry some help. Pro bono or whatever.”  
  
“Color me impressed with those very on-point legal terms, Swan.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” she sighed. “What do you think?”  
  
“I think you’ve covered all your bases.”

He looked up at her from under his eyelashes and Emma rolled her whole body in disappointment. “For real?”  
  
“You started it.”

“Whatever.”

“The maturity is overwhelming, Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes again – proving his point perfectly – and tugged on the end of her ponytail. “I think we should ask David tonight,” she said.

Killian froze. “What?” he asked quickly, staring at her as if she had suggested something totally unheard of.

“Tonight,” she repeated. “Get the ball rolling and whatnot. Then follow up with El if we have to.”  
  
“I think you can probably take care of that yourself, Swan.”

“Strength in numbers.”

“Yeah,” Killian said slowly, eyeing her nervously. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”  
  
Emma had been waiting for this – an opportunity like this to fix _something_. Or something else.

She and Killian were far from perfect.

Emma had seen to that, but things had gotten better from that initial post-Penn meeting in the darkroom and she was almost entirely happy with the friendship they seemed to have salvaged. Almost. They talked and they bantered and her stomach didn't  _totally_ flip when he smiled at her. 

That was besides the point.

She could fix _this_ though. Emma knew David and Killian had stopped talking, knew the text messages had ceased as soon as they got back from Storybrooke and she was going to fix it.

“Why not?” Emma challenge. Killian made some sort of significant face, like he couldn't believe what she was suggesting. “I know he wants to talk to you too.”

That wasn’t entirely true. David hadn’t said anything about it and Emma had been far too nervous to ask, unable to bear the thought of messing up something else in Killian’s life.

“I’m not worried about David,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m worried about Mary Margaret.”  
  
“What?!?”

Emma stood up quickly, her pen falling out of her hair and landing on her desk – it sounded as if it had crashed on the imitation wood, but that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe that was just everything else.

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked again. Killian looked nervous, scrunching one eye closed and tugging on the piece of hair behind his ear.

“We...talked. Some.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“You, obviously.”  
  
Emma sank back down into the chair, thudding against the seat. “Why?” Killian stared at her. “Ok,” she amended. “When?”  
  
“A couple weeks ago?”  
  
“And you’re just telling me this now?”  
  
“I hadn’t planned on telling you ever, if we’re being honest.”

“What did she say?”

“You should probably ask her.”  
  
“But you’re here now,” Emma pointed out and Killian’s shoulders dropped.

“She’s just as protective of you as you are of her you know,” Killian said softly, smiling despite the slightly sad tone of his voice. “And she made that clear. She did her best to explain where you were coming from.”

“That so?”  
  
“Don’t get mad.”  
  
“I’m not,” Emma lied. “Ok, not a lot. What else did she say?”

“To back off.”

Emma bit her lip. He had. Sure, he still talked to her and the banter was back in full-swing, but if Emma stopped and thought about it, he hadn’t done much of anything over the last month. He cooked her dinner, but Emma was always the one grabbing his hand or stepping into his space.

That probably meant something. Probably.

It went she was a complete asshole – a selfish asshole – who couldn't stop shaking from the whiplash of her emotions. 

“You did that,” she muttered and Killian pressed his lips together tightly.

“I tried.”

“I think you should come talk to David with me. That’s not overstepping if I’m asking.”

Killian stared at her for a beat and Emma could practically see the gears working in his head. He was considering his options. “Mary Margaret is cooking, if that makes a difference,” Emma added.

“It just means she’s got sharp cutlery at her disposal.”  
  
“She’d hardly attack you.”  
  
“I think you underestimate that protective gene, Swan.”

“Come home,” she said quickly, not even considering the words before they were out of her mouth. Killian didn’t move, but his eyes flickered for a moment. “Talk to David. Talk to Mary Margaret. Eat some food. Force him to give us Anna’s contact information. It might even be fun.”

“It might be,” he admitted. “As long as there’s no cutlery involved.”

“I promise.”

* * *

Emma didn’t tell Mary Margaret. Or David. Somehow that seemed like a good idea. Until she and Killian were walking up the several flights of stairs to the front door.

Then it seemed like a very bad idea.

She could feel the nerves coming off him, staying a respectable few feet behind her, and it wasn’t doing anything to help the own butterflies in her stomach.

This was stupid.

It was Mary Margaret and David. They were her friends. The most important people in her life. Who would be very surprised to see Killian Jones back in their apartment again.

To be honest, Emma was a bit surprised by that as well. Her head was spinning with every thought she had, every worry she had documented, every conversation that made her wonder what kind of an idiot she actually was.

It was just too easy. He was too charming and open and _absurdly_ good looking. It all made sense when he was around.

They had fallen back into their old routine in just a few weeks, helped along by Henry’s appeal process and soon-to-be-written story, but Emma couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was still _wrong_.

Strictly speaking, she knew what it was. Strictly speaking, it still terrified her.

She loved him as much as she had in Storybrooke, cared as much as she had when she kissed him for the very first time, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to actually say the words out loud. Killian had backed off, followed Mary Margaret’s instructions, and accepted his role as _whatever_ , but Emma wasn’t sure where she had landed in all of this.

She wanted and she didn’t – all at the same time.

And she had brought all of that home with her, without telling Mary Margaret or David.

Emma’s hand hovered slightly in front of the door, holding her keys in the air and she heard Killian laugh quietly behind her. “Open the door, Swan,” he muttered, staying a few feet behind her.

She nodded once, twisting the handle in her hand and stepping into the apartment. The TV was on in the background and Emma could hear Mary Margaret tell David to grab something out of one of the cabinets.

“Emma?” David called as the door slammed shut behind Killian. “That you?”  
  
“Nope, it’s a murderer.”

“The sarcasm isn’t appreciated,” David said as he turned around the corner, a mocking smile on his face. He stopped suddenly when he saw Killian behind her.

Emma glanced over her shoulder and did her best to smile encouragingly at Killian who looked more than just a bit uncomfortable, both of his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Hey,” David muttered, staring slightly at Killian.

“Hey,” Killian answered. Emma bit her lip.

“David? Emma?” Mary Margaret asked, walking out of the kitchen as well. Her eyes widened when she took in the scene in front of her, but she looked directly at Emma, the questions obvious on her face. “Hi Killian,” she said, a small smile forming on her face as she flipped a towel over her shoulder.

“Hey, Mary Margaret,” he answered softly. Emma smiled. “How’s school?”

“School is good, thanks for asking. Only took me a week to memorize all my kid’s names.”

“That’s impressive.”  
  
“Thanks. Emma,” she added, turning her attention away from Killian. “You got a minute?” Emma nodded and followed Mary Margaret into the kitchen, throwing one more encouraging glance at Killian. He nodded back at her.

Mary Margaret was standing in the center of the linoleum floor, arms crossed and a _look_ on her face.

“What’s going on M’s?” Emma asked, knowing the answer that that particular question already. Mary Margaret just stared at her. Emma sighed and shook her shoulders slightly. “Ok. _Ok_. I know.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“I think?”

That got out a laugh out of Mary Margaret and Emma relaxed slightly – she could hear David asking Killian about the Yankees playoff chances in the living room. “You could have let me know, Emma,” she said, nodding towards the other side of the apartment.

“For what it’s worth, I did consider it. And then I freaked out.”

“Figued.”  
  
“I know you did,” Emma sighed, leaning back against the counter and trailing her foot across the floor. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“What did you say to Killian?”

Mary Margaret stared at her for a moment before answering. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I was worried about you. Obviously.”  
  
“That seems to be a trend.”  
  
“People like you, Emma. They _love_ you.” Emma ignored that. “I just...I told him to take a step back – for a moment,” Mary Margaret continue. “To let you catch up.”  
  
“Catch up?”  
  
“To him.”

Emma pursed her lips, understanding washing over her. “I don’t know that I’m there yet,” she admitted, ducking her eyes and staring at her feet.

“I don’t think he cares.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“He’s here, Emma. He’s been here. This entire time,” Mary Margaret’s voice was serious. _Teacher voice_. “I really don’t think he’s going anywhere. No matter what label you give him. You’ve just got to catch up.”  
  
“You think that’s possible?” Emma asked, voice not nearly as confident as Mary Margaret’s. It was quiet and unsure and just a bit anxious.

“Of course I do. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

Emma felt something course through her veins and she tried to put a name to it – _hope_. “You’re smart,” she muttered, throwing a smile at Mary Margaret.

“Just experience.”  
  
“How did you know?” Emma asked suddenly, snapping her head up. “That David was it? How have you always been so sure?”

Mary Margaret shrugged, sticking her lower lip out slightly. “There’s not a formula, Emma. No one’s going to tell you _this is it_. You’ve just got to know.”  
  
“And how did you?” Emma continued, unsatisfied with generics. Mary Margaret sighed.

“He snuck up on me, actually,” Mary Margaret said slowly, scrunching her face slightly in thought. “You remember when were kids and he was always around and, one day, I just realized he’d _always_ be around. And I got goosebumps thinking about that. That he’d be there, no matter what.

David’s like this quiet, calm presence in my life. And, you know, he makes me smile. Scares the heck out of me with this job, but it makes him happy. He wants to help people, you know? I can’t tell him not to. He helps me decorate my classroom and he knows the name of every one of my third graders. I just know.”

Emma let out a huff of breath, blinking back tears and smiled at Mary Margaret. They stood like that – smiling at each other across the linoleum floor – and Emma felt that same hope course through her veins again.

“You’ll get there Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly, stepping forward and squeezing Emma’s hand. “You’ve just got to catch up.”

“We’ll see.”  
  
“I’ve got faith.”  
  
“You always do.” Emma wasn’t a hugger per se, but it seemed an appropriate time to reach forward and wrap her arms – tightly – around Mary Margaret, who hugged her right back. Tightly.

“Now can I ask you a question?” Mary Margaret asked, leaning back and raising her eyebrows. Emma nodded. “How did Killian Jones end up in our living room again?”

Emma laughed and she heard footsteps moving in the living room – she had drawn some attention to their conversation. “I need David to do me a favor. I need him to talk to Anna for me.”  
  
“Elsa’s roommate? Why don’t you ask her?”

Emma made a face. “She’s not exactly happy with me.”

“Still?”  
  
“Still. I mean we’ve talked, but it’s...tense. So I figured I’d take a different approach.”

“I get that, Emma, I do and I’m sure David’ll do it, no questions asked, but maybe you need to talk to Elsa?”

“I know,” Emma sighed. “You’re right of course.”

“You don’t argue with Mary Margaret,’ David said, rounding the corner of the kitchen with Killian just behind him. “You know that.”  
  
“That’s why I agreed with her,” she answered, rolling her eyes before staring at Killian. “Did you ask him?”  
  
“Waiting on you, Swan,” he answered and Emma ignored the slight ringing in her ears at hearing those same words again.

“What’s going on?” David asked, wrapping his arm around Mary Margaret and staring questioningly at Emma.

“I need to talk to Anna.”  
  
“Elsa’s roommate?”

“Yes,” Emma said quickly, hoping to avoid a repeat discussion of her current relationship with her sister. “I want to talk to her about Henry.”  
  
“Does she know Henry?”  
  
“Not that I’m aware of, but I’d like her to. Or at least know of him. I talked to the DOE today about his appeal and was resolutely told he wouldn’t be able to get back on the field because he’s already had his allotted four years, even though he didn’t play.”  
  
“And that is unequivocally untrue,” Killian added. Emma wasn’t certain when he had found his way next to her, but she settled into her spot next to him, smiling at him and glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He smiled back.

“Unequivocally?” David repeated, the laughter obvious in his voice. Killian nodded. “And what do you think Anna can do, Emma?”

“Prove that the city is wrong. That the quote I got was wrong. If I can do that, then I prove Henry has one more year left and he can play.”

“Hasn’t he already started school? I mean can they decide anything now?”  
  
“Sure they can,” Emma said.

“He started school this week,” Killian added quickly. “We just need to get the appeal overturned by the end of the year. He won’t start working out with the high school team until January or so.”

Emma turned to look at him, wide-eyed and impressed. “How often do you two talk?”  
  
“C’mon Swan, you knew all of that too.”  
  
“I did. I just didn’t know you did.”

“We talk,” he shrugged. “Or text at least. He’s a prolific texter.”

She was stunned silent again, wondering how Killian managed to _care_ about everything so strongly when everything he had seen – everything Emma had done – should have forced him to do the exact opposite.

“I’ll talk to Anna tomorrow, Emma,” David promised, breaking her out of thoughts. “She’ll probably call two minutes later. She’s very enthusiastic.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, meaning it. David shrugged.

Mary Margaret’s timer went off and she slid out from underneath David’s arm, opening the oven and filling the crowded kitchen with the smell of roasted vegetables and garlic. “Geez, M’s,” Emma muttered, staring into the stove. “When did you even find the time?” Mary Margaret clicked her tongue and made a face, pulling the food out and balancing it on the end of the sink.

“Didn’t take long,” she said, grabbing a knife and slicing a loaf of bread.

“She’s modest,” David added, kissing her on the temple as he reached around Mary Margaret to grab glasses.

“You know,” Emma continued. “Killian can cook too.”

“Swan…” he muttered, rooted to the spot as the roommates ran through their regular pre-dinner routine.

“Really?” Mary Margaret asked, smiling. “We should join forces some time, Killian. Form some sort of holiday cooking tag-team.”

Killian laughed, finally uncrossing his arms and looking a bit more relaxed. “I’m not much of a holiday cooker,” he said. “Not much experience on that front recently.”  
  
“Well, maybe, we can change that, right Emma?” Mary Margaret eyed her, one eyebrow perfectly raised in an imitation of Killian that was so spot-on Emma was certain she must have practiced it.

“We’ll see,” Emma answered evasively. Killian took a step towards her while Mary Margaret and David worked on putting food on plates.

“It’s fine, Swan,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s eat, ok?”  
  
Emma nodded slowly, taking the plate from David’s outstretched hand as she did her best to smile at Killian. Maybe someday she’d catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working our way back out of that cavern of angst. With dinner. And filming. And more talking. As always, I can't say how much I appreciate you guys sticking with me on this one. I know it's long and there are a lot of words and I love every click, comment and kudos.


	32. Chapter 32

David wasn’t lying – Anna was very enthusiastic.

She had called the next day, Emma’s desk phone ringing as soon as she walked towards it that afternoon. “Jeez,” Emma muttered, sliding her bag off her shoulder and grabbing the phone quickly as she shrugged out of her jacket. “Hello?”

“Emma? It’s Anna, you know from school? Well, not your school. But a school. Michigan, in fact. We met a couple of times.”  
  
“Hey Anna,” Emma said, falling into her desk chair. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. It’s good to hear from you again. I take it David talked to you already?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just a couple of minutes ago. He said you’ve got some questions.”

“I do. I’m doing this story about a kid who’s being denied his final year of high school sports by the city. I’ve done some research, but everything I found in the last month and a half seems to fly in the face of that decision. He should be able to play.”

“And you talked to the city already? Board of Education?” Anna’s voice had lost that bubbly, excited  – slightly crazed – tone immediately. She was, suddenly, all business.

“I talked to a woman named Cruella yesterday.”

“Oh, jeez,” Anna groaned. “She is the absolute worst.”

“So I’ve heard. But she did manage to inadvertently give me a quote, so I suppose I can’t hate her too much."  
  
“That’s alright I can hate her enough for the both of us.”

Emma laughed at that before sighing slightly. “Listen, Anna, this kid. I really want to help him. He’s been through a lot and it’s only going to get worse if he can’t play baseball this year. I need to figure out a way to prove that the city is wrong and then get it in print.”  
  
“He plays baseball? What position does he play? Where does he go to school? Maybe we could all go see him play this season.” Anna’s voice sped up with each question and Emma shut her eyes, teeth tugging on her lower lip.  
  
“Focus, Anna,” she said slowly, then something hit her. “Wait. Did you say when he plays this season?”  
  
“Of course I did.”

Emma paused, tilting her head and leaning her phone against her shoulder blade. “How do you know that?”  
  
“I’m a very positive person, Emma, you’ll pick up on that real quickly. Oh, and also, I know how to fix this.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she stuttered over several words before finally working out a complete sentence. “What?” she asked, voice practically screeching across _The New York Record_ office. “How do you know that already?”  
  
“In addition to my positivity, I’m also pretty good at this whole law thing? There was something like this in one of my classes actually – almost the exact same case.” Emma smiled, standing up quickly to start pacing behind her desk. She had to move. If she sat still she was liable to combust with excitement.

“Anyway,” Anna continued, “in that one the kid’s family sued the BOE. I’m assuming you don’t want to do that, but we don’t have to. Write that he could if he wanted to. That’ll wake ‘em up. Probably terrify Cruella right down to her stiletto boots too.”  
  
“That could work,” Emma muttered, brain going a mile a minute as she grabbed a notebook, sitting down on top of her desk and writing as fast as she could. “That could really work.”

“It absolutely could work,” Anna agreed. “And you can quote me on that. Anonymously, maybe. I don’t want to lose my job.”

“You could lose your job over this?”

Emma could hear Anna’s sigh, could practically hear her shrug over the phone. “No. Probably. Most likely. It doesn’t matter. I want to help.”  
  
“You hardly know me.”

If Emma was a smarter woman she would listen to Mary Margaret more. She would remember that people cared – and in some cases maybe even loved her–  and were willing to do things to help. She wouldn’t question good intentions whenever she happened upon them.

If Emma was a smarter woman she’d remember how nice it was to feel _hope_ in the middle of her kitchen and she’d look for that feeling everywhere she went.

She wasn’t like that though.

At least not yet.

Emma questioned – everything.

“I know Elsa,” Anna said quickly, voice rising with excitement again. “And your mom and I remember you too. Oh and I know David. Add that to the list as well. I like helping. That’s what I do.”  
  
“Seems like a good trait for someone working in the public defender’s office,” Emma admitted quietly.

“Exactly.”

“You really want to go on record?” Emma asked again. “Absolutely sure.”  
  
“If you can make this work without putting my name in print, that would be fantastic. But I’ll handle it if you have. You care about this kid don’t you?”  
  
Emma didn’t even think before she answered. “I do. I just want him to get a fair chance.”  
  
“Then so do I.”

“Elsa certainly knows how to pick friends,” Emma said smiling.

“I like helping people.”

“And I appreciate the help. More than I can say.”  
  
“No problem. Hey, do you want a copy of that Michigan case too? Maybe you can add that to the story? Bulk it up a little bit?”  
  
“You read my mind,” Emma answered. “Thank you again Anna. Honestly.”

“Let me know how it goes, ok?”  
  
“Absolutely.”

Emma hung up the phone, biting her lip as she tried to organize the hundreds of thoughts racing through her head.

She needed to write.

She also needed to eat.

She tried to decide which one was more pressing.

Turns out, she didn’t have to.

No sooner had she walked around her desk, heading back towards the elevator bank in the sports floor lobby, than her body almost collided with a very solid, very immovable force.

“Jeez,” Emma mumbled, coming up just short of running directly into Killian.  
  
“You need to watch where you’re walking, Swan,” he said, the smile obvious in his voice.

“Maybe you should be the one watching where you’re walking,” she challenged, looking up to find that he was, in fact, smiling. And practically loaded down with bags.

He had his phone pressed up against his shoulder with his ear – like he had just finished a call – and there was a brown paper bag sticking out of the other bag slung over his shoulder. He was holding a cup in each hand and, almost for good measure, there was a notebook sticking out of his back pocket and a pen shoved behind his ear.

He was a journalistic caricature come to life.

“Where are you even coming from?” Emma asked. “It looks like you’ve brought your whole life into this office.”  
  
“Hardly,” he scoffed, adjusting his hold on his phone slightly. Emma sighed and reached out, grabbing the phone from underneath his ear before he could drop it. Her fingers brushed over the back of his neck – just a breath away from running her fingers through his _goddamn hair_ – but Emma didn't say anything, just put his phone in her back pocket and put her hands back out in front of her expectantly.

“I’m going to need that back, Swan,” he said quietly, staring at her slightly wide-eyed like she had surprised him a bit.

The phone was already vibrating. “You can get it back,” she promised, hands still outstretched. “Give me something else. You’re going to drop anything.”  
  
“I’m not completely incompetent.”  
  
“I have no idea how not being able to hold everything you have here leads to incompetence, but I’m not going to argue with you. Give me one of those cups.”  
  
He sighed dramatically – he had a flair for that – and handed one over slowly. “It was for you anyway,” he added.

“What?”  
  
“It’s for you,” he said. “So is the bag.” He nodded towards the paper bag that was half falling onto the floor and turned slightly so Emma could reach forward and grab it.

“What did you do?” Emma asked, slightly stunned. She could smell it before she opened the bag – onion rings He had bought her food. Again. Because she refused to eat. Ever.

“You didn’t eat yet did you?” he asked and Emma got the distinct feeling that he already knew the answer.

“Of course not.”  
  
“Then there you go. I figured.”

Emma sighed, but she could feel the smile on her face anyway. “Thanks,” she said, reaching forward to grab his now-empty left hand. He stared at her for a beat and then Emma felt his fingers lace through hers.

It wasn’t easy. It was a clumsy, awkward movement, like he wasn’t sure what to do exactly. She was still smiling.  She squeezed his hand and heard Killian’s breath hitch slightly.

He shrugged quickly, another less-than-confident movement that caught Emma by surprise. “I just knew you wouldn’t have eaten yet.”  
  
“You’re good at that,” Emma said quickly, without even considering what it meant.

“What’s that?”  
  
“Oh. Um, knowing. Me. You’re good at knowing me,” she stuttered before adding, “and my eating habits.”  
  
He laughed quietly under his breath and did something _absurd_ with his eyebrows. They were still standing in the middle of the floor. Killian hadn’t let go of her hand.

“I have good news too,” Emma continued quickly. “Like ridiculously good news." Killian didn’t say anything – just widened his eyes in wait and Emma plowed forward. “I talked to Anna.”  
  
“She called already?”  
  
“David did say she would be enthusiastic. I think she called me as soon as she stopped talking to him.” Killian made a face that seemed to scream _impressed_ and nodded towards Emma, encouraging her to keep talking. “She gave me a quote. Asked me not to use her name, but told me about this other case she studied in school that seems exactly like Henry’s. That kid got back on the field.”  
  
“Just like that?” he asked skeptically. Emma sighed.  
  
“Well, no, not just like that. There were lawyers involved in that one, but we don’t really have that option. So I’m hoping a story can make a difference.”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

“You think?” Emma asked seriously.

“Isn’t that kind of the point of all of this?”  
  
“Just seems like an awful lot of maybes and hopefully's. I promised Henry I’d fix this and I want to make sure that I can.”  
  
“Swan,” Killian said seriously, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re going to fix this. Henry’s going to play baseball again and then five years from now we’ll cover his call-up to the Yankees.”  
  
“Third base,” Emma added. “Power-hitter.”  
  
“I would expect nothing less.”

“Only if you keep bringing him to the cages,” she laughed.

“We’re going next weekend again.”

“You’re something else,” Emma mumbled. “I just wish I was more certain.”  
  
“You can’t be Swan. There’s no way to know what will happen, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You’re going to write something spectacular because that’s what you do. Every time. As for maybe's and hopefully's, I've learned never to question yours.”

Emma tugged her lip behind her teeth and saw Killian’s gaze drop down to her mouth for half a moment before both of them realized where there were and the person – fucking _Walsh_ – who was lurking just a few feet away from where they were standing.

Killian pulled his hand away from Emma’s – while she did her best to get her heart rate back to a workplace appropriate level – and turned towards the other writer.

“What do you want Walsh?” he spit and Emma made a reproachful noise in the back of her throat, biting down on the onion ring that she had fished out of the paper bag. Killian glanced at her over his shoulder and winked.

 _God_.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt,” Walsh answered slyly, staring at the space where their hands had been just a few moments before.

“You’ve already done that,” Killian said. “Talk.”  
  
“I want in.”

“In on what exactly?”  
  
“Whatever super secret project you two are working on. Oh and the videos too.”

“Yeah that’s not going to happen,” Killian said quickly.

“Why not?”  
  
“Because it’s not your story.”  
  
“Why is it _hers_?” Walsh continued, glaring at Emma like she had poisoned the office’s entire water supply.

“I found it,” Emma answered, stepping in front of Killian and brushing him away when he tried to talk. “Again. Go find your own stories, Walsh. It isn’t that hard.”

“How are you doing this?” he asked, the anger almost palpable around him.

“Doing what?”

“Are you fucking him? Is that what’s going on?”

Emma was silent. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t _breathe_.

Killian, however, could do all of that. And then yell. He was in Walsh’s face in one and a half steps, his own face practically contorted with anger and Emma noticed his hand flex threateningly.

“Killian,” she muttered. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

He didn’t look at her. He stared at Walsh whose small smile proved that he knew what he was talking about.

“That’s it isn’t it,” Walsh said slowly. “Or you were. Lifestyles was right.”  
  
“Lifestyles?!?” Emma screamed. Killian still hadn’t moved. Walsh just laughed at her.

“Kathryn was the first to announce that you brought him home with you. The whole building knew. It was all anyone talked about while you were gone. But then, something interesting happened when you came back, or, rather when _he_ didn’t come back. Took you a couple hours to get over her didn’t it?” Walsh continued, smirking at Killian. Emma felt like she was going to throw up.

“Everyone knew. You two thought you were so sneaky, ignoring each other and staring _longingly_ across the fucking office. Everyone’s known for months. I knew it. There was no way she’d get all those bylines without it. Were you sleeping with Isaac too? That why he’s got you on _all_ the sports videos?”

Emma was seething. She was breathing heavily and put the now lukewarm hot chocolate on the desk next to her. If she kept squeezing it that hard, it was going to spill all over her.

She opened her mouth to say something – anything – but didn’t have the chance.

Killian took a step back from Walsh and, somehow, that was more threatening. He stared at him, both his hands balled into fists at his side, and squared his shoulders before whispering in a voice that sent chills down Emma’s spine. “Get. Out.”

Walsh laughed, crossing his arms and raising one eyebrow at Killian.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Killian said, voice still dangerously low. “This is my department. And now you’re done. Got that? Fired. Done writing. There won’t be a paper in the greater northeast that will even look at your resume.”

“This is because of her?” Walsh asked again, gaping at Emma who just made a face. “She can’t possibly be that good.”

Killian moved forward quickly and Emma saw his hand raise slightly, but she reached forward and grabbed his wrist. “No, no, no,” she said quickly and he spun towards her, eyes just a little wild. “Take a deep breath. Breathe. Just look at me. It’s ok.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” he answered, taking a deep breath anyway.

Emma nodded, trying to look even remotely confident, and ignored everything else that was going on around her. She reached one hand up and placed her palm lightly on Killian’s face, the stubble of his beard scratching her slightly.

“Just look at me,” she repeated and his shoulders dropped. “It’s ok. He’s going to leave.” Emma turned to find a small crowd had surrounded them – of course, word of the _sports floor incident_ would be the only thing anyone talked about for the next two weeks. She scanned the faces around her, hoping to find someone who could take care of the situation.

Her eyes landed on Will and Victor a few feet away from her. Will smiled knowingly at her and walked towards where Walsh was standing, that obnoxious smirk still on his face.

“Get the fuck out of here, Walsh,” Will muttered and Emma watched him put his hand on Walsh’s shoulder, directing him towards the door.

“This isn’t over, Jones,” Walsh said as Will started pushing him out of the office. “Just wait. I know _people_. They can make this very difficult for you.”

Killian started moving towards him again, but Emma was quicker, keeping her hand trained on his cheek as she grabbed hold of his hand. That got him to stop.  

“Leave him alone, Cap,” Victor said as he walked towards them. “He’s not worth it.”

Killian let out a huff and dropped his shoulders again. Emma squeezed his hand and did her best to smile at him – he stared right back. He was thinking – she could tell – but Emma couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

He took a deep breath again, the effect rippling through his whole body and reached up to touch her hand where it was still resting on his face. “Is he gone?” Killian asked to no one in particular, eyes not moving away from Emma’s.

“Yeah, he’s gone,” Victor muttered, spotting Will as he walked back onto the floor. The double doors slammed behind him and Emma jumped slightly.

Killian was still frozen.

“God what a fucking asshole,” Will said, walking up towards Emma and glancing nervously at Killian. “You good, Cap?”

Killian nodded slowly, both of his hands still wrapped around Emma’s. He – finally – moved again, rolling his head back on his shoulders and staring at the ceiling. Emma glanced between Victor and Will who were both eyeing their boss with trepidation.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered after a few more moments. “You guys, uh, go write something ok? Swan, come with me.”

Emma’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything as Killian pulled her hand down and started tugging her along the sports floor. She thought she heard Will mutter something that sounded like _write what, exactly_ as she tried to keep her feet underneath her.

They walked past Killian’s office and the conference room and back into the corner of the floor towards the darkroom. He yanked open the door and flicked on the light, turning quickly and staring at Emma.

“What?” she asked quietly, taking a few steps into the room as her eyes got adjusted to the red light.  
  
“Are _you_ ok?”

“You’re honestly asking me that?”  
  
“I’d honestly like to know.”  
  
“I’m fine,” she said automatically and Killian just raised one eyebrow at her, the picture of disbelief. Emma made a face. “Fine might be an overstatement.”

“I’m sorry.”  
  
“For?”  
  
“That, of course. Walsh. Take your pick.”  
  
“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Swan,” he reproached. “This is exactly what you were worried about. Everyone knowing. Everyone talking. Everyone assuming things. If I’m honest I’m waiting for the fallout here.”

That was fair.

He wasn’t wrong. This is _exactly_ what she had been worried about. Emma never wanted to be the story and now she was set to be metaphorical front-page news for the foreseeable future. She should have panicked. She should have pushed him away.

She should have run.

She didn’t feel particularly inclined to do any of that. And she didn't want Killian blaming himself all over again. 

“No fallout,” Emma whispered, staring at her shoes and scuffing her heel along the floor. She watched Killian’s feet as he took a few steps towards her, the door closing softly behind him as he came closer.

“No?”

She shook her head. “No,” Emma repeated. “I mean, he wasn’t exactly wrong.”

“Swan,” Killian said sharply, forcing her to look up at him. He looked angry again. “He couldn't’ have been more wrong.”

“Not about the stories or the bylines,” she amended. “But, you know, the rest of it. He wasn’t wrong.”

Killian stared warily at her, eyes narrowing slightly like he really was waiting for her to run screaming from him. Emma stood her ground.

“Well, no,” he admitted finally. “He wasn’t wrong about certain things. That’s what you were worried about though.” Killian repeated himself again, almost as if he were trying to remind himself of the previous conversations.

“Yeah, I know,” Emma said. “It’s ok though.”

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“I’m serious.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s not worth it,” she replied, trying to decide the best way to put her jumbled thoughts into words. That was easier said than done. “I didn’t want you doing something you’d regret because Walsh is trying to make something good seem like something bad. Does that make sense?”  
  
Killian smiled at her, slowly, the movement inching across his face and he nodded. “That does make sense.”

“So let Kathryn talk. I promise, I, almost, don’t care.”  
  
“It’s the almost that worries me.”

“You shouldn’t have fired him.”  
  
“Enough was enough, love,” he muttered, rocking back and forth on his feet. “He’s always been an ass, but he’s taken it to a new extreme since you’ve been here. I know you can defend yourself, Swan, but I’m here too, you know?”  
  
He was there. Right in front of her, smiling nervously and wrapping his hand around the back of his neck.

He was _still_ there.

He had fired Walsh for _her_. Emma took a deep breath, swallowing slowly and ignoring the buzzing in her ears.

“I know you are,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Indefinitely,” he added, as if he was clarifying his point. Emma laughed softly and reached up on her tiptoes to put her palm on his face again.

She had stopped thinking almost ten minutes before. She was acting entirely on impulse now and every one of her impulses wanted to be as close to Killian Jones as she could.

He didn’t kiss her, but Emma was almost positive he wanted to. She wanted him to.

But they were walking on some very thin emotional ice and Emma knew it wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair to spin him around like this, to drag him to every unexpected almost-relationship whim.

And yet…

So she did the only _safe_ thing she could think of. She hugged him. Tightly and maybe even a little aggressively, trying to pour every single feeling she felt into the arms wrapped around him.

If Killian’s sudden intake of breath was any indication – it had worked.

His own arms wrapped tightly around her waist and Emma could feel his head move into the crook of her shoulder, like he was burying his face in her hair. One hand reached up slowly, fingers tangled slightly in her curls and Emma smiled against his neck.

It wasn’t enough – not nearly – but it was all she could do.

“I know you’re here,” she said again, talking mostly into his body. She felt him move, the laughter shaking her slightly as he continued to hold her tightly against his chest.

“For the record,” he muttered softly and Emma felt him move her hair so it ran over his hand, “I’m glad I’m here too.”

She didn’t want to move, but Emma, somehow, found a way to step back. Her pulse thudded in her veins, betraying every single one of her assurances that she _couldn’t_ do this, that they couldn’t be _anything_ , and she smiled at him again.

Killian kept his hands on her shoulders – almost as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching her – and returned her smile.

“What do you think he meant?” Emma asked suddenly, the memory hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

“What do you mean, love?”  
  
“When Walsh left he said that this wasn’t over. That he had _people_ that would make things difficult for you. What do you think he meant?”  
  
Killian shrugged dismissively, making a face as he ran his hands up and down Emma’s arms. “I don’t know and I don’t care. He doesn’t have people.”

“You’re sure?”  
  
He nodded, but Emma noticed the slight glint in his eyes. He wasn’t worried, but he was also cautious. “Of course,” Killian continued. “He can’t do anything anymore. And I meant what I said. He won’t write on this coast again.”

“You only said northeast before,” Emma pointed out, some of her worry fading away with their foray into sarcasm.

“Ah, well, I’ve expanded my zone. The entire east coast – at least.”

“You seem awfully confident you can make that happen.”  
  
“Of course I can Swan,” he said, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her back towards sports floor, out of the, relative, safe space the darkroom provided. “I’m the one who has people.”

* * *

 

The letters came a week later.

They were very impressive envelopes. Emma had to admit that. There were two of them, which seemed a bit redundant, but that was all part of the _show_.

And it was quite a show.

Emma stared at the envelope in her hand, sinking into her desk chair as she felt dread fill her from fingertips to toes.

“Shit,” she muttered, ripping it opened and staring at the letterhead. New York City Department of Education. “Fucking shit.”

Emma read through the letter, hitting the high points easily. They didn’t come right out and tell her to _cease and desist_ , but the sentiment was fairly obvious. The word _stop_ was repeated several times.

She sighed, leaning back against her desk and slumping down until her feet slid in front of her. “Shit,” Emma repeated. She couldn’t come up with a better word.

What now?

“You get one too?”

Killian was standing in front of her desk, his own version of a vaguely impressive envelope held loosely in his hand. He looked slightly amused. Emma nodded towards the discarded sheet of paper on her desk, still slumped down in her chair. He just smirked at her. Definitely amused.

“What do we do?” Emma asked.

“Nothing.”

Emma tilted her head and sat up straighter. “What?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“You wrote a story, Swan. We are a newspaper that runs stories. You’re on this newspaper’s payroll, so we’ll run your story.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”  
  
“You don’t?”

“I think it’s something to think about.”

Emma didn’t like to admit it, but she was almost certain they had run into a wall. She’d never been threatened by the New York City Department of Education before. Or any department, city or otherwise.

She wanted to help Henry – was desperate to help Henry – but she also didn’t want to get sued. It was a fine line to walk.

“It’s not,” Killian assured her. “You wrote the story already didn’t you?” Emma nodded. “Then I don’t see any reason to change the plan. Front and center of the Sunday section.”

Emma’s stomach flipped slightly. They decided to run it on a Sunday – a particularly _important_ day in the world of daily newspapers. A day that saw papers chock-full of coupons and comics and, most importantly, several thousand words of Emma Swan feature story.

She’d spent the entire week writing, pouring over the specifics of the case Anna had sent her and doing her best to detail Henry’s situation as one that painted him, not as the victim, but a kid who just wanted a chance.

Emma was proud of it.

She wanted it in print.

She didn’t want to get sued.

“Have you actually read the letter?” Emma asked, picking up the paper as if Killian wasn’t holding a copy of his own. “This Zelena lady seemed pretty insistent. And, side note, what kind of name is Zelena actually? You think DOE requires its people to have absolutely absurd names?”  
  
Killian smiled at her, scrunching his face slightly so he didn’t laugh directly at her. Emma appreciated that. “I have read it, Swan. Several times in fact. And I’m still positive it doesn’t matter. No one is suing anyone.”  
  
Emma considered his answer. He seemed very confident. It was difficult not to follow suit. “You didn’t answer my Zelena question,” she pointed out.

He didn’t try and stop his laughter then. “I’ve met her, you know, couple of times,” Killian said. “She is, easily, the worst person I’ve ever encountered since I started writing.”  
  
“Easily?”  
  
“Without a doubt. But she’s as much talk as Cruella is, Swan. I honestly wouldn’t worry about it. This letter,” he shook his envelope slightly, “is show. It’s all fake. Throw some water on Zelena and she’ll melt away.”

“I think you’re confusing stories.”  
  
“And here I thought it was a charming metaphor.”  
  
“Something like that,” Emma said, twisting her lips slightly as a sudden, terrifying thought hit her. She tried to keep her face neutral, to ignore the tension growing between her shoulders, so tight she was certain they would snap, but it only took a few seconds for Emma to realize Killian had noticed.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“How do you think they knew?”  
  
“Who?”

“The DOE. Zelena. As far as I know there are no flying monkeys spying on me. Obviously they knew I was interested in Henry’s files, but how did she find out that I was going to write anything?”

“Grapevine nonsense. It’s not a very big office, love, I’m sure word got around.”  
  
“Or word showed up unannounced and looking for a little revenge.”

“You think it was Walsh?” Killian asked. _God_ he was good at reading her.

“I think it’s possible. Maybe even likely.”  
  
“It does seem like something he’d do,” Killian admitted. “But how do you think _he_ figured it out?”  
  
“We haven’t exactly been quiet about it. I mean Henry came here to talk that first time. Walsh was a dozen feet away from him.”

Killian sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“It was him,” Emma continued. “I know it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and Emma tugged on her lip with her teeth. Then he ripped the envelope in half.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice even.

“Fuck him,” Killian said lightly, tossing the pieces of the very fancy and probably very expensive envelope in the trash. “You all in on this with me, Swan?”  
  
“In on this?”

“This story. Getting Henry back on the field.”  
  
“Of course I am.”

“Then fuck Walsh and whatever in he has with the DOE. I couldn’t care less. They need to find a better way to spend their time than sending us absurdly over-the-top letters. Phones have been around for over 100 years, that would have been much more efficient.”  
  
“Would you hold the story if they called you instead?” Emma asked, one side of her mouth pulling up slightly.

“Would you?”  
  
“I’m not the editor.”  
  
“You wrote the story.”

Emma’s smile was wide and Killian’s eyes were practically _sparkling_ with amusement. Her mind went back to something he had told her once – it seemed like years ago instead of the few months it actually was. _I think we make quite a team, Swan_.

They did.

A one-two punch of journalism integrity and stubbornness.

“Run the story,” Emma said.

Killian beamed at her. “Front and center on Sunday. They’re giving you color too.”

Emma made a face – color ink was expensive. “Did you do that?” she asked, knowing the answer already. Killian just shrugged. “Thanks,” she continued. “I’m sure Ingrid will be pleased when she frames it and hangs it on the top of the clock tower at home.”  
  
“I’ll be honest, love, that wasn’t my first thought, but I did think you deserved a bit of flair to your story.”  
  
“Either way. I appreciate it.”  
  
“All in?” he repeated again and Emma had the sinking suspicion that the question was about more than just the story.

“All in,” she said without missing a beat. “But if we get sued, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair,” Killian laughed, reaching forward to push the letter on Emma’s desk back towards her. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“I would,” she answered, grabbing the paper and slowly ripping it in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all fantastic, do you know that? You are. And you are so, so good for sticking with me on this because I know it's long and it's been angsty and this was vaguely intense, but the reception has been so awesome and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Also Walsh is the worst and that's the last we'll see of him, but no one ran away from emotions and this all sets up everything and it's all got a point. I'm rambling. Anyway, you're all lovely and Tuesday is going to be especially good, I promise.


	33. Chapter 33

The story ran on Sunday.

And it was fantastic.

David had gotten up early – or early enough – and walked to the bodega around the corner to actually _buy_ the entire Sunday edition of _The New York Record_ , handing it to Emma as she bit into a piece of toast on the couch.

“It looks great,” he said, a small, proud smile on his face.

“Thanks dad,” she mumbled back, silently pleased as well.

David made a face at her, walking back into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee, and was immediately replaced by Mary Margaret who sunk onto the couch next to Emma and peered at the sports section over her shoulder.

“It really does look great,” she said. “The color is something else. Makes it stand out.”  
  
“That was Killian’s idea,” Emma said softly, doing her best not to analyze every last centimeter of the story’s layout. “I think he bartered columns for it.”

Mary Margaret didn’t say anything – a fact Emma was grateful for – but did shoot her a knowing looking before staring back down at the newspaper. “Is he coming later?”

They were going out – a celebration dinner of sorts, although this one wouldn’t involve drinks. At least not until they had sent Henry home. Emma nodded. “Yeah, of course,” she said. “I mean, this is half his celebration too.”  
  
“You wrote the story, Emma.”  
  
“I know,” she countered, “but he was...supportive? Is that lame?”

“Of course not. I know he was. And I know Henry would want him there. He’s been talking non-stop about their latest hitting session.”  
  
“He idolizes Killian,” Emma laughed. “I don’t think Killian even realizes. Or if he does it makes him uncomfortable. He’s not good with being the center of attention.”  
  
“You think he’d be used to that by now,” Mary Margaret mused, but Emma just shook her head.

“No, that’s why,” she explained. “He was. All the time. And then he got hurt and he wasn’t anymore. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself anymore.”

“Huh.”

Emma raised her eyebrow at her friend and stared at her skeptically, waiting for the next observation. It never came. “What?” she asked.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Nothing. I’m saying nothing at all.”

“Yuh huh.”

“So,” Mary Margaret said quickly, trying to change the subject. Emma grimaced at her. “Where do you want to go later? The bar is obviously out.”  
  
“M’s, we haven’t actually had a bar in six years. We have places we _go_ , but we hardly have a bar.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“We’ll go somewhere around here,” Emma said, moving her hands slightly to indicate the immediate area surrounding their walk-up. “Killian _literally_ lives five blocks away. He can meet us anywhere.”

“Does that include here?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Is he coming here before we go?”

“No,” Emma said, laughing despite herself. Mary Margaret stared at her like she had possibly lost her mind. “He and Henry are running. Again. It’s become a weekend thing.”

Mary Margaret started to laugh as well and Emma folded up the paper still in her hand. “What’s so funny?” David asked, walking back into the living room, coffee cup in hand.

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret said quickly. David ignored her.

“Are Killian and Henry hanging out again?” he asked. “You know I played baseball in high school. I could help.”

“You played Kiwanis when you were 10,” Mary Margaret pointed out. Emma couldn’t stop laughing. David just glared at her.

“Still played before,” he mumbled, sitting on the far end of the couch.

“Are you jealous, David?” Emma asked.

“No.”

“I’ll tell Killian to let you know when they go next time. You can run too.” He didn’t answer immediately, but Emma heard his quiet _thanks_ next to her. “No problem,” she said.

David mumbled something under his breath again and Emma smiled, her heart twisting slightly – _hope_.

* * *

 _I don’t know where I’m going, Swan_.

Emma’s phone buzzed with the new message and she rolled her eyes at the text. **_To be fair, I don’t know where you are_. **

Her phone rang approximately two seconds later and Emma shook her head, leaning into the depths of the couch cushions. “What?” she said as soon as she slid her thumb over the phone.

“Rude.”

“Where are you?”

“Henry and I are five blocks away from you.”  
  
“You could probably just say that you and Henry are at your apartment.”  
  
She could almost _hear_ him shrug at her. “It’s not nearly as fun.”

“M’s has decided we’re going to some sort of _tavern_ on West Broadway.”  
  
“A tavern,” Killian scoffed. “Doesn’t seem appropriate for a 17-year-old kid.” Emma heard Henry yell _I’m almost 18_ in the background and she shook her head again. “What kind of tavern are we talking about?”  
  
“Relax Mr. Surprisingly-Overprotective. It’s just a restaurant. No one is going to force alcohol on Henry. In fact, no one is even going to drink in front of Henry.”

“When do you want us there?” Killian continued, ignoring Emma’s slightly sarcastic jab.

“Now?”  
  
“Not much notice.”  
  
“Did you need more?”

“No,” he objected. “Henry’s just liable to lose his mind if he doesn’t see his story soon.” _No I’m not_ , Emma heard in the background, _no one is losing their mind. They’re just anxious!_ “And,” Killian added, “maybe I just like teasing you.”

Emma ignored that. “You didn’t let Henry look at the paper yet?” He was silent for a moment and Emma lowered her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “Killian?” she prompted. Mary Margaret and David walked down the hallway, waiting expectantly for her to get off the phone and put shoes on.

“It didn’t seem fair to show him without you there.”

 _God_.

“West Broadway,” Emma repeated. “And Chambers. We’ll be there in like ten minutes.”  
  
“We can do ten minutes,” he answered and Emma could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll see you there.”

It only took them seven minutes to walk to the restaurant. Henry and Killian were already there, lingering in front and completely oblivious to the hostess who kept glancing over at them – at Killian – every two and a half seconds.

“Swan,” he said, stepping towards her and Emma noticed the hostess breathe out forcefully, like she had been holding it around Killian. She looked disappointed.

“Hey,” Emma responded. “How long have you been here?”

Killian waved his hands slightly in front of  him. “I don’t know, two minutes?” He glanced over his shoulder at Henry, who simply shrugged. Teenager.

Mary Margaret – ever the organizer – had taken over the seating situation and before Emma could say anything else, she found herself walking into the restaurant, Killian’s hand hovering over her back.

She did her best not to lean into it.

They sat down in the back corner and Emma leaned over, grabbing another copy of _The Record_ out of her bag and tossing it to Henry next to her. He caught it with ease. Baseball player.

“Good catch,” David muttered approvingly from across the table.

“Thanks,” Henry said, smiling. “Is this it?”

Emma nodded. “That’s it.”

Henry practically raced through the paper and Killian reached over him, pulling the sports section from the middle with practiced ease. “Save yourself some time,” he said, earning an eye roll from Henry in the process.

And then Henry was smiling. Beaming. His head flicked between Emma and Killian on either side of him – like he couldn’t figure out who to look at. Emma put her hand on his shoulder. “Looks good, huh?” she asked.

“It looks awesome.”

“Read it,” Killian added. “Swan made you sound very deserving.”

“He is deserving!” Emma responded quickly. Killian just shook his head.

Henry didn’t say anything for several minutes and Emma chewed on her tongue inside her mouth, suddenly _very_ nervous. She wanted to do this right. She wanted him to like it. She wanted Henry to know that he had people in his corner – an entire table full of them.

“What do you think kid?” Emma asked softly.

Henry turned to look at her slowly, a look of wonder on his face. “You wrote this?”

“Of course.”

“This is incredible.”  
  
Emma’s breath rushed out of her – her hand still on Henry’s shoulder – and she pulled him closer to her quickly, practically yanking him off his chair and hugging him tightly. “You’re going to play again, kid. I promised.”  
  
“You did.”

“And this is going to help. Or at least I hope it’s going to help.”

“Of course it’s going to help,” Killian added. “After all, Swan’s got a whole life plan for you, Henry. You can’t disappoint her.”  
  
“Life plan?” Henry laughed. “What kind of life plan?”

“You’re going to play third base for the New York Yankees,” Killian answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Mary Margaret laughed, but David looked a bit put-out. “What?” Emma asked, him, mouth twisting slightly with the words.

“Third base? You want to relegate him to third base?” David asked, sounding slightly scandalized. “Aren’t you ridiculously fast, Henry? You’ve got to be in the outfield. It’s the only option.”

“He doesn’t play outfield,” Emma countered. “Third base for the New York Yankees.”

“Actually,” Henry said as four pairs of eyes snapped towards him. “I was thinking about maybe changing positions this year. You know, when I get back out on the field.”

“That’s exciting,” Mary Margaret added, a constant source of metaphorical sunshine and optimism. “Where are you thinking about playing?”

Henry paused for a moment, lips pulled tightly like he was thinking – hard. “What’s your plan kid?” Emma prompted.

“I think I might try and play right field.”

Emma breathed in slowly through her nose and chanced a glance over Henry’s head at Killian who was sitting rail-straight in the seat next to the teenager. His eyes flicked over to her and Emma tried to breathe again – staring at a _ridiculous_ amount of blue and an even more ridiculous amount of emotion.

“That so?” Killian asked softly and Emma smiled.

 _God_ – he deserved that.

Henry nodded quickly, turning towards Killian. “Yeah,” Henry said, his voice picking up quickly. “I thought it’d be a good idea, you know? I mean I was looking at the roster last year and they graduated all three of their outfielders. Their third baseman led the team in fielding percentage last season. Even if I do get back, they’re not going to put me out there instead of him.”  
  
“When,” Killian muttered.

“Huh?”

“When you get back.”

Henry rolled his eyes and Emma was almost ninety-nine percent positive her entire face was going to crack in half with the force of her smile.

“Am I missing something here?” David asked and Emma suddenly remembered there were other people sitting at the table. She shook her head slightly, opening her mouth to answer David. Killian beat her to it.

“I played right field,” he said, no trace of anything except pride in his voice. It was a good thing he wasn’t sitting next to her, Emma thought, or she’d do something stupid like hold his hand or put her hand on his leg.

David nodded his head slowly in understanding and Mary Margaret actually looked like she was about to cry, eyes flitting between Emma, Henry and Killian.

“You know,” David added, “I used to play baseball.”

Emma groaned, but Henry seemed genuinely interested. “Really?” he asked. “Did you play at school too?”  
  
“If by school, you mean elementary school, then yes,” Emma said and David shot her a glare. “You weren’t really that good,” Mary Margaret added. David simply looked affronted by the attack.  
  
“Where did you play?” Killian asked, earning a questioning look from David. “Where in the field?” he corrected.

“There weren’t any positions,” Mary Margaret interrupted. “We were eight. He had barely graduated off the tee ball stage.”

Emma tried not to laugh, but David’s vaguely outraged face was simply too much. It deserved all the laughter it got. “Rough, M’s,” she said. Mary Margaret shrugged.

“I’m just being honest.”

“It was definitely several steps above the tee ball stage,” David added, trying to save face. Emma couldn’t stop laughing. “You weren’t even there, Emma, you can’t laugh about something you didn’t witness.”  
  
“You weren’t there?” Henry asked, turning towards her in his seat. _Oh_. Emma shot David a frustrated glance and she thought she saw him sink a bit lower in his chair.

“I met M’s and David when I was 12,” Emma explained slowly. “I didn’t live in Storybrooke until then.”  
  
“So where did you grow up?”

“There are some that would argue I did _most_ of my growing up after I got to Storybrooke,” Emma said, working a small chuckle out of David. “But before that is a slightly bigger and more convoluted story.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t exactly have the best family from the get-go. Or any family, really if we’re being honest. I lived in a couple of different foster homes and one absolutely _heinous_ group home in Boston, but then I landed in Storybrooke and things got better.”  
  
“You grew up in foster care?”  
  
“For awhile, yeah.”  
  
“Like me?”

Emma smiled slowly and put her hand back on Henry’s shoulder. “Yeah, kid, just like you actually. But, and here’s the exciting part, things got better for me. Way better. I found people who love me and want to help me.”

She kept her eyes focused _only_ on Henry, ignoring the stare she could feel coming from Killian, and kept talking. “It’s not always going to suck,” Emma continued. “It’s going to get better. So much better. You’re going to get out. And get back on the field and get to school. Then third base for the New York Yankees.”  
  
“Right field,” Henry mumbled and Emma let out a short, watery laugh.

“Of course,” she agreed. “Absolutely right field.”

Henry did his best to duck his head, blinking back the tears Emma had already seen and she did her best to hide her own emotion, wiping her cheeks quickly with the back of her hand. She heard Mary Margaret sniffle to her left and laughed again.

And then Henry was hugging her – tightly and slightly awkwardly, almost pulling Emma off her chair. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’ve got people now, kid.”

Henry pulled away and nodded, resettling on his chair and Emma, finally, looked over his head at Killian’s awe-struck face, staring at her like he was seeing her for the very first time. Maybe he actually was.

“You all ready to order?” a waitress asked, stepping up to the table and breaking Emma out of any other deep, mental speculation. She stopped staring at Killian and ordered grilled cheese.

They walked out of the restaurant two hours later, still riding the emotional high of personal revelations and front-page feature stories and Emma realized she hadn’t stopped smiling all night.

Her cheeks hurt.

Henry was walking in front of her, talking about school with David and Mary Margaret and Emma knew Killian was just a few inches behind her. It didn’t take long for him to catch up.

“You did good today, Swan,” he said softly. “The story was incredible. Did I tell you that?”  
  
“No,” she said. He was the only one who hadn’t yet. Even Ingrid and Elsa had texted her during dinner after reading the article on _The Record_ ’s website.

“It was incredible,” he repeated. “You were...incredible.”  
  
“You need to find another adjective,” Emma teased, glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes. He laughed, ducking his head slightly and rubbing his hand. That got the smile off her face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he lied. He knew she knew too. He kept staring at the sidewalk.

“Killian,” Emma pressed. “Come on.”

“He wants to play right field.”  
  
“That’s a good thing.”  
  
“That’s a slightly overwhelming thing.”  
  
“Why?” He stopped walking abruptly and Emma was a few feet in front of him before she even realized. She spun around and rolled her shoulders, bringing her hands up slightly in question. “Why?” Emma asked again, walking back towards him quickly.

“He shouldn’t do that,” Killian said. Ah, there was that patented Killian Jones lack of self confidence. Emma wanted to cry – again.

“Don’t say that,” she said, stepping closer to him again. “You don’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, kicking his foot slightly, but didn’t move when Emma was only a few centimeters away from him. _Kiss him_ . Her mind was practically screaming at her and _God_ she wanted to, but she couldn’t, felt almost frozen to the spot, wondering how much she had contributed to Killian’s lack of confidence.

“I think you’re giving me far too much credit, love,” he all but whispered, leaning forward slightly. Emma didn’t have to worry about kissing him, she thought suddenly, _he_ was going to kiss her.

Until he didn’t.

Instead he reached up slowly – agonizingly slow – and brushed a piece of hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering along the back of her neck and giving Emma goosebumps. She sighed into the feeling of his hand on her skin again and tried to remember how to speak English.

“That’s not true,” she said after a few more seconds. “Henry wouldn’t want to be like you if he didn’t think you were deserving of that kind of adoration. And you are. Really. You are...so much more than you think.”

Emma needed to stop talking. He was staring at her again, eyes wide, his chest barely even moving as he breathed. She didn’t stop talking. She was on an emotional outburst role that night.

“I know you bartered column space so I could get more inches for my story,” she said, standing up to her full height as if that proved some kind of point. “I know you took Henry to the cages on Friday too. And I know that you deserve to have someone want to play the same position as you. You have people now too, Killian. People who want you to be happy and who care and who…”

She trailed off, but Emma knew exactly what she was going to say next. _People who love you_. People like her. And only her.

Killian didn’t say anything immediately, staring at her and making Emma blush. His fingers moved back up her neck until they were stuck in her hair and he was _totally_ going to kiss her. He didn’t. Instead he answered her softly, muttering _incredible_ into the space above her head. Emma sighed, the force of it moving her shoulders. “You’re incredible, Swan,” he said again. “I uh...I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lucky that’s not going change,” she said quickly, without even considering what she had promised.

The words sunk into Emma slowly, the feel of them almost identical to those shots of rum she had done in Storybrooke, warming her entire body slightly with a dull glow that she never wanted to lose again.

She had caught up.

She just didn’t know if Killian had gotten tired of waiting. It was a terrifying thought – one that made more sense than Emma would have liked to admit. But it had hit her all at once.

She thought she knew she loved him before, but, somehow this was different. This wasn’t just _wanting_ him – although she did want him, quite a bit – or even bringing him home. This was _everything._

Because she'd pushed him away with both hands and possibly her feet as well if that made any sense in whatever metaphor she was running in her head and he came back anyway, every single time – determined to help Henry and her and, God, he'd bartered column space so she could get more space for her feature. 

He should have hated her. She kind of hated herself for what she'd done. 

He didn't. 

It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t have to. Because Emma was certain, for the first time since she had plowed him over outside the elevators, that she wouldn’t know what to do without him either.

“Good,” Killian said softly, hand still firmly entrenched in her hair. He bent his head slightly, faster than Emma was ready for and, brushed his lips over her cheek. He had kissed her and it was so goddamn _sweet_ that Emma could hardly stand it.

The small tear trailing down her face betrayed every emotion she felt coursing through her system and she heard Killian’s breath hitch slightly, pulling back to stare at her, worry etched across his features.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, the note of concern obvious in his voice.

Emma shook her head.”Nothing.” He eyed her speculatively, lowering his eyebrows and making a face. “I promise,” she added, reaching up quickly to rub under her eyes. Killian groaned slightly and wrapped her hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

Emma was halfway towards making out forcefully with him in the middle of the sidewalk again when she heard David calling to them from the end of the block.  
  
“You know we were two blocks away before we realized you two weren’t there!” he yelled.

Emma rolled her eyes before she spun around, Killian’s hand still holding hers. “That’s because you’re crappy friends,” she shouted back. “Pay better attention!”

“Walk faster!”

“Come on love,” Killian said, walking around her so Emma’s arm was pulled out straight behind him. “Best not to keep them waiting anymore.”  
  
“David just wants ice cream,” Emma begrudgingly, following along anyway.

“Don’t you?”

“Well, obviously.”

“Then, come on, Swan. We’ll get crazy and get celebratory waffle cones.”  
  
“As if there was any other way to eat ice cream. You know this place won’t have nearly as aesthetically pleasing ice cream cones as we do at home.”  
  
“Of course no one can top you, Swan,” he muttered, glancing at her with that stupid smirk as they, finally, reached David.

Someday that smirk wouldn’t make Emma want to forcibly make out with him in the middle of the sidewalk. It just wasn’t at that moment. If she was being honest with herself, Emma would admit that day probably wouldn’t ever come.

* * *

Emma grabbed a dozen copies of Sunday’s paper on her way to her desk the next morning, stocking up for _reasons_ – and also because Ingrid had demanded at least six.

A dozen newspapers – _Sunday_ newspapers – were far heavier than she expected however and by the time Emma had found her way to her desk she was breathing heavily.

“Alright, Swan?” Killian laughed and Emma peered her head around the stack of newspapers in her hands to glare at him.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

“Here, hold still.” Emma could hear him moving and saw his hands reach out to the top of her newspaper pile, grabbing half the stack and depositing them in a neat column next to her desk.

“Thanks,” she muttered, bending down to pile her own papers on top.

“Can’t have you breaking any bones trying to balance all of those now can we?”

“Hysterical.”

“Just concern for your general well-being.”  
  
“What a gentleman.”

“Always.”

Emma rolled her eyes and leaned against her desk, crossing her arms as she stood next to him, an entirely unprofessional amount of space between them. “So?” she asked. “Why were you lurking?”  
  
“I don’t lurk.”  
  
“You were. Are. Currently. Why?”  
  
“Isaac wants to talk to us.”

“What?” Emma stood up, taking a step away from her desk so she was standing in front of Killian. She could feel the panic settling on her face and knew her eyes looked a bit manic as soon as she felt Killian’s hand settle on her arm.

“Relax, love, it’s fine. I’m sure. I bet he just wants to say how well it all went.”

“You’re sure.”

“Of course.”

That was a lie.

He was doing a good job of trying to cover it up. The small smile, the vaguely confident bravado, the protective hand on her arm. Emma almost missed it. But her intuition was – rarely – ever wrong.

“You’re worried,” she accused.

“No.”  
  
“Don’t lie.”

Killian rolled his head to the side, nearly resting it on his shoulder. “Swan,” he said slowly. “There is nothing to worry about.”

Another lie.

Emma pursed her lips and sighed. “When did he want to meet?”  
  
“Now.”

Her eyes widened again. “So that’s why you were lurking.”  
  
“I was not lurking. We have covered this. I was…” Emma rolled her eyes and cut him off, grabbing his hand quickly and tugging on his arm.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go see what this is all about.”

Isaac’s office – or rather, his entire floor – looked as imposing as ever when they walked off the elevator after being beckoned. Emma tried to ignore the nerves in her stomach and her slightly accelerated heart rate. And Killian’s smirk, but that was an entirely different challenge altogether.  

“It’s going to be fine Swan,” he assured her – again – opening the door in front of them and nodding towards Isaac’s secretary.

“He’s expecting you,” she said, hardly even looking away from her computer screen.

“Thanks,” Killian said, walking confidently towards the next set of doors and swinging them open. He moved into the office with practiced ease, smiling over his shoulder at Emma as she lingered in the doorway. “Lurking,” he muttered, widening his eyes at her and Emma quickly followed him inside, standing near attention next to him.

Isaac was on the phone, a frown on his face that looked as if it had been there for hours, impressive considering it was only one in the afternoon. He also looked angry. Very angry.

This wasn’t the same editor who had heaped compliments on them for their video hits. This was an editor who was dealing with _something_ and it wasn’t good.

Isaac hung up the phone, leveling a stare at Emma and Killian that sent a flush of worry down her spine again, pooling in her stomach.

“Hey Isaac,” Killian said, some of that pre-meeting confidence lacking just a bit. “You wanted to talk."  
  
“I did.”

He didn’t say anything else and Emma was struck with the sudden realization that this was not going to end well. “And?” Killian prompted, taking a step closer to the desk.

“I’ve gotten a phone call,” Isaac said.

“And?” Emma made a significant face at Killian as he repeated himself _again_ and saw him shrug slightly, trying not to attract any extra attention to himself or the movement.

“Let’s just say the DOE isn’t pleased with your story. And I can’t say that I am either.”  
  
“What?”

_Shit._

Emma bit the inside of her lip and tried to come up with a scenario where this ended well for either her or Killian. She couldn’t. Shit.

“I have to admit, Killian, I’m a little surprised at your thought process over the last week or so,” Isaac continued. “Cruella told me that the department had sent you a letter last week instructing you not to run the story.”

Killian shrugged again, this time making sure Isaac saw every aspect of the vaguely sarcastic movement. “I wasn’t aware that we were in the habit of listening to singular letters after months of research and writing.”

“This newspaper doesn’t ignore warnings like that. As an editor that’s something you should be aware of. You should have informed me as soon as you got the letters.”

“Did you even read the story?” Killian asked sharply.

“I did.”

“Then you know why the DOE is upset. They fucked up and Swan figured it out. They didn’t want the story to run because Henry should be playing baseball this season.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes, glancing between Killian and Emma. She stood up straighter, trying to maintain some sort of control over her own story. “Cruella claims that’s not true,” Isaac countered.  
  
“Why are you talking to Cruella about this? Did she call you?” Killian’s voice was sharp and Emma knew he was trying not to yell. Or pace. He settled for rubbing his hand instead. Emma tried not to reach out and grab it.

“That’s not any of your business,” Isaac answered quickly, standing up as well and crossing his arms. He wasn’t very tall. In fact, he wasn’t very big at all. He looked a bit like a child in an adult’s body, face scrunched slightly with his more-than-obvious frustration. “I have known Cruella for years and she was kind enough to tell me that the DOE is thinking about pursuing legal action. They claim you can’t print those records.”

“That’s not true!” Emma interrupted. She had had enough. “Those documents are public record. I could put them up on a billboard and it would be legal.”

Killian chuckled slightly, ducking his head and Emma could see the ghost of a smile on his face. “We didn’t do anything that wasn’t in line. We even talked to a lawyer! It’s all in the story.”  
  
“I know it is,” Isaac said quietly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you were told not to run this story.”  
  
“I don’t work for the Department of Education.”  
  
“That’s right. You work for me. You both do. And these decisions you’re making have repercussions on the entire paper.”

“How?” Killian asked, the skepticism heavy in his voice. He had plunged head first into angry. “Swan should win an award for all the work she put in on this! We’re the only paper in this entire city with anything even remotely like this. This kid came to _us_. He wanted to talk to _Emma_ and she wrote something that’s going to change his life. If the DOE wants to throw threats around, then let them. It doesn’t change any of the facts.”

Emma tried to smile at Killian without drawing any more of Isaac’s anger towards her, but realized after two seconds that she didn’t care. She leaned forward – he was still standing close to Isaac’s desk – and brushed her fingers over the back of his wrist. She could _feel_ him relax.  
  
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Isaac said quietly. “This paper can’t afford threats. It can’t afford to make rash decisions that could affect every level of the editorial staff.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” The tension was back in Killian’s shoulders.

“Walsh. I am talking about Walsh.”

“What about him?”

Emma felt her own brand of tension in her shoulders. _Shit_. Again.

“You fired him.”  
  
“I did,” Killian agreed. “He should have been gone months ago.”  
  
“That’s not your decision. At all.”

“And who’s is it?”

“Mine.”

Killian sighed and Emma stepped up so she was standing directly next to him. _We make quite a good team_ . “That’s not entirely true,” Killian pointed out. “It’s my section. I get some control over who is writing in my section.”  
  
“I don’t disagree with that,” Isaac admitted. “But Walsh was an asset to this newspaper. And now he’s very angry.”

“He tipped off the DOE didn’t he?”  
  
“He did.”

“Fucking asshole,” Killian mumbled, shaking his head.

“Why did you fire him?”

“He was an asshole.”  
  
“I need a better answer.”

Killian paused for a moment and Emma could almost hear the gears working in his head, trying to come up with an answer that seemed appropriate for a workplace environment. She seized that pause to provide her own answer.

“Me,” she said quickly, ignoring Killian’s stare. “It was because of me. Walsh wouldn’t leave me alone. Killian wasn’t lying. He was an asshole. And he made working her incredibly uncomfortable.”  
  
“I’d think you’d be able to take care of yourself, Emma,” Isaac said slyly.

“I can. But this was too much. He didn’t just step over the line, he pole vaulted over it.”

“Was any of it true?”

“Excuse me?”

Isaac didn’t say anything – waiting for Emma to respond to his original question. When she didn’t answer quickly enough, he stared at Killian instead.

“That’s not any of your business,” Killian whispered, repeating Isaac’s words from earlier.

“Another point on which we disagree Jones. That’s unacceptable.”

Killian tilted his head and rocked back on his heels slightly. “That’s your problem.”  
  
“You know Walsh talked to me after you kicked him off the sports floor. Came right up here to complain.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“He had some very interesting stories to tell.”  
  
“That so?”

Emma looked at Isaac who was, in turn, looking right at Killian. Isaac nodded. “Very interesting.”  
  
“Care to share?”  
  
Isaac nodded again. “He had some very specific accusations regarding your,” he nodded towards Emma and Killian, “relationship outside of this office. And he added that this might be a bit of a trend for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Robert Gold sound familiar to you?”

Killian looked like was going to fall over. His face blanched and every ounce of bravado had disappeared entirely. He looked vaguely terrified. Emma grabbed his hand without thinking, ignoring Isaac’s eyes, and squeezed as tightly as she could.

“What did he have to say about that?”  
  
“That he knows. It was slightly cryptic.”

“Fuck,” Killian mumbled and Emma squeezed again.

“So that does mean something. Should I be worried?” Isaac asked. Emma wondered at what point in the conversation he started to care again. Maybe around the time it appeared his sports editor and most popular columnist was going to faint in the middle of his office.  

“It’s fine,” Emma said as quietly as she could, trying to keep Killian’s focus on her instead of the millions of thoughts she knew were already racing through his mind. “Killian, it’s going to be fine.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Isaac asked sharply.

“That’s _really_ not any of your business.”  
  
“We don’t need to bring Walsh back. If what he supposedly was saying on your floor was true, then I’m glad we’ve kicked him out. But he’s got leverage and that worries me.”  
  
“You think he’ll do something?” Emma asked.

Isaac shrugged, but Killian answered. “No,” he said. “He’s too much of a coward to do anything. He wouldn’t go to Gold.”  
  
“He knew Zelena, you know,” Isaac added. “Used to date her or something.”  
  
“Jesus,” Emma muttered and, this time, it was Killian who squeezed her hand.

“We’re not doing this again,” Isaac said, snapping the attention in the room directly back to him. “No more of these back-room dealings. You get letters from city departments, you tell me. You want to fire a staff writer, you tell me first. He said you almost hit him.”  
  
“He would have deserved it,” Killian spit.

“That’s not a good defense if he charges you for assault.”  
  
“I didn’t actually hit him.”  
  
“I know.” Isaac shook his head slowly and fell back into his enormous desk chair. Emma glanced at Killian who looked as worried as ever. “The story really was very good, Emma. That kid should be thanking you.”  
  
“Thanks,” she said softly. “He made it easy.”

Isaac hummed softly in response and Emma knew the dismissal when she heard it. She started to walk away, but almost fell over when Killian didn’t move.

“Killian?” Isaac asked, surprised.

“Did he say how he knew Gold? How he met him?”  
  
“No. Does it matter?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Isaac narrowed his eyes – he didn’t believe him, Emma didn’t either. “Alright. Go run your section, Killian.”

Emma squeezed his hand again, tugging slightly on his arm. It took a moment, but he followed her out the door, silent as they walked back into the elevator. He hit the button for the ground floor and Emma glanced up at him questioningly.

“Take a walk with me, Swan,” he answered. She nodded and let him pull her out towards the sidewalk, but he didn’t turn downtown – towards Josie’s – instead heading uptown towards Columbus Circle.

The sounds of the cars and the tourists and New York overwhelmed both of them as they walked towards the park, weaving their way through traffic hand in hand, until Emma couldn’t hold back her questions.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking,” she said as he directed them past the statue in front of Central Park, walking past the bike vendors and novelty ice cream carts.

“None of it is very positive.”  
  
Killian stopped walking and sank onto one of the benches along the path, his head resting on his hands after he had pulled away from Emma’s grip. “Talk to me,” Emma said again, sitting down next to him and nudging his knee with hers.

He sighed softly and tugged on his hair with a force that surprised Emma. “How did he know?”

Emma shrugged – a totally unacceptable answer – and tried come up with something that would sound appropriately encouraging. “Do you think it would actually matter?”

She had failed on the encouraging front.

Killian still hadn’t lifted his head up and Emma wrapped one hand around his, forcing him out of the vice-like grip he still had on his hair. “Talk.”

“I think it’s...interesting.”  
  
“How?”

“Walsh hasn’t worked anywhere but _The Record_ for years. He’s been in New York his entire life. He wouldn’t have just run into Gold.”  
  
It hit Emma suddenly and, suddenly, she realized what Killian was so worried about. “You think Gold is in New York.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

Emma was silent for a moment when she stopped breathing suddenly. “You think Milah is here.”

Killian smiled sadly at her, finally lifting his head up completely to meet her gaze. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he repeated.

She tried to keep her breathing even – knowing full-well that he would be able to read her like an open book if she even so much as thought about acknowledging the worry that was coursing through her system.

Emma wasn’t a clingy person. That particular characteristic had been forced out of her when she was eight years old and the family she had been living with in Minnesota sent her back to the foster home when they found out they were expecting a baby of her own.

She knew people left.

And she knew she had absolutely no right to feel the way she did – nervous and anxious and just as worried as Killian looked. 

But she had _finally_ caught up. And she was nothing if not a little selfish.

He stared at her, head tilted, hand twisting back up with hers as he desperately tried to meet her eyes. Emma avoided him. That was a mistake. She might as well have broadcast her anxiety with a flashing, neon sign.

“Swan,” he said softly and Emma finally looked at him. “You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.” Emma let out a shaky laugh as he repeated exactly what he had just told her. “And don’t tell me nothing. I can _see_ it.”  
  
“I know you can.”

“Then tell me.”

“It’s more of a question.”  
  
“Ask it.”  
  
“Would you want to?”  
  
Killian’s gaze faltered for a moment and Emma was certain his eyes dropped to her mouth for a moment before he looked at her with questions in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“If Gold is here and Milah is here and they’re both here, would you want to?” Emma was babbling now. She tried to get up – so she could pace in the middle of Central Park – but Killian held her hand tighter, an unspoken command to sit still.

“Would you, would you want to see her again? Go...go back to her?” Emma’s voice got progressively quieter as she continued to talk. Killian didn’t blink. “I mean you loved her, right?”

Killian licked his lips before answering, top teeth tugging on his bottom lip slightly before he, finally, answered. “I did,” he said.

Emma was hoping for a bit more. She bit back her questions and tried to take a deep breath, but found it difficult to actually fill her lungs with oxygen.

“I did, Swan,” Killian said again. “I loved her more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. She was...everything. But, well, she left. And I spent a long time being mad about that and certain that nothing else in my life would ever be important like she was was.” He took a deep breath, staring straight at Emma and all she could see was blue. “I was wrong,” he added.

“Yeah?” _God_ , what an absurd answer. What an absolute emotional letdown. She didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t even think of the words.

“Yeah.”

Emma leaned forward, not even trying to to disguise her gaze, staring directly at Killian with every single emotion that she felt. He looked right back at her – he hadn’t blinked in _days_ , Emma was certain of it – and the small, nervous smile on his face did _something_ to her.

She was going to kiss him.

She wanted to kiss him.

She _needed_ to kiss him.

And he didn’t look too upset at the idea.

The hand that had been wrapped up in Emma’s was now resting on her hip, thumb moving up and down slightly so that the fabric of her shirt rumpled underneath him. Emma moved forward again – her entire leg pressed up against his – and she nodded quickly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself he was being honest with her.

She knew he was – even without the sixth sense.

“Swan?” he asked quietly with Emma just inches away from his face. “Love, I need you to be sure. You’ve got to be sure.”

Emma swore she felt her heart break and wondered again how she had ever allowed herself to hurt him. She was an idiot. She reached up again, putting her hand on his cheek and he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes slightly.

“I’m sure,” she whispered.

It didn’t take a full second before he moved and kissed her and it felt like coming home.

His lips moved over hers quickly, like he was trying to claim as much as possible while they still sat on a bench in the middle of Central Park. Emma’s hands moved into his hair and his hold on her waist was impossibly tight, almost as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Killian pulled away before Emma was ready for him to move and she whined, the sound reverberating in the back of her throat. He laughed at her softly, shaking his head as he peppered her face with kisses.

That made _her_ laugh, some sort of girlish nonsense that Emma definitely would have mocked if she were one of the thousands of tourists in the general vicinity.

His hands ran up and down her spine, making Emma shiver and Killian kissed her once more, softly, just below her ear, pushing her hair out of the way in the process.

 _I love you_.

The sentence was on the tip of her tongue, practically begging to be said, but Emma bit it back. _Not yet._ Not now. Now when Gold might be back and Milah may be in New York and the DOE was threatening to sue them for a couple of thousand words.

She didn’t say it.

Instead, Emma jumped right back into questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

“Are you worried?” she asked.

“About?”  
  
“Gold. Milah.”  
  
“I don’t even know that they’re here. It’s just an assumption.”

“Are you going to find out?” Emma tried not to let the slight terror she felt at the idea of that creep into her voice. Killian noticed anyway.  
  
“What do you think I should do?”  
  
“I’m not part of the equation.”

He stared at her pointedly for a moment, brushing kisses along her jaw again and mumbled against her skin. “No?” he asked.

“No.” Her voice only shook slightly when she answered. Emma was proud of that.

“I don’t know that that’s true, actually. You said you were sure.”

“I am.”  
  
“Then what do you think I should do?”

Emma sighed, leaning back slightly to look at him. “Honestly?” Killian nodded. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You deserve closure. You do. But I don’t know that I can see a scenario where this ends well.”

Killian smiled at her, trailing his fingers through her hair. “That’s what I thought.”  
  
“Yeah?”

“He can’t do anything. Gold or Walsh. I really do believe that. And even if they could, even if they thought they could scare me or something ridiculous like that, what could come out? That I loved someone once?” Emma smiled and Killian kept talking, hand moving absently over her shoulder blades. “I don’t need closure, Swan. I just…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I need you to be sure.”

Emma took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m not running this time. You’re not quite as scary anymore.”

“No?” That smirk was so _dumb_ – so incredibly dumb. And attractive – so incredibly attractive.  “What changed?” Killian asked, voice quiet and slightly nervous.

Emma considered her answer for a moment, thoughts drifting towards the absurdly sentimental and overly emotional before she realized the truth was her best course of action. “I caught up,” she said simply.

He kissed her again and Emma felt like her whole body had fallen into his. _I love you_ , she thought again, swallowing that idea immediately and focusing on the heat she could practically feel radiating off Killian’s body.

“I would have waited,” he muttered against her lips, the promise landing directly in Emma’s heart like it belonged there.

“I know you would have. But now you don’t have to.”

“Noted.”

Killian leaned forward again and Emma was perfectly content to stay on that Central Park bench for the rest of her life, but the rest of the world had other plans. His phone rang – loudly – and Killian groaned, reaching in between him and Emma to grab it out of his pocket.

He kept his left hand on her waist while he talked, trying to calm down whoever was on the other end. “Relax,” Killian said. “Relax. Will, I swear if you don’t take a deep breath and talk to me, I’m going to uninstall the macros on your computer and you’ll have to do all your stats by hand.”

Emma smacked his arm lightly – Will was very particular about his macros – and Killian just grinned at her, squeezing her waist in the process. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes,” he continued. “15 tops. Go sit down and do some breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Killian groaned again as he pulled the phone away from his ear and stuffed it back in his pocket, standing up quickly. “The whole building would probably collapse in on itself if I wasn’t there to make sure the box scores got in the paper every day,” he muttered bitterly and Emma laughed despite herself.

“You love it,” she accused and Killian shrugged, offering his hand to her. Emma grabbed it and stood up, standing next to him and bumping her shoulder into his arm. He pulled her closer to him and kissed the top of her head lightly.

“We’ve got to go save box scores, love,” he said quietly.

“You have to go save box scores,” Emma corrected. “I have newspapers to send to Maine.”  
  
“Using _New York Record_ postal services for your own personal needs, Swan?”

“It’s just a lot of newspaper.”

“It’s alright,” Killian muttered, arm tight around her shoulders as he started walking them back out of the park. “I promise not to tell on you, Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! This is for real. We are, officially, dating and ~together~ and that's how it's going to be until the end. I promise. There'll be some angst because I'm me, but no one is breaking up with anyone anymore. Thank you all so much for sticking with me so far and being absurdly patient. You're all wonderful.


	34. Chapter 34

She was absurdly happy.

Like.  _Absurdly_. 

It was perfect. Emma was certain she hadn’t stopped smiling once. She felt like Mary Margaret. Sounded like her too, all hopped up on _hope_ and _love_ – although she hadn’t actually said anything about the latter – and the way Killian Jones’ hand felt in hers when he’d walk with her to the subway every afternoon.

That was another benefit of living five blocks away from each other.

He picked her up for work. Daily. She’d walk out the door, to find him leaning on the railing along the sidewalk, hot chocolate cup in hand and that _stupid_ smirk on his face.

Emma regularly kissed it off.

He didn’t complain once.

It was perfect.

Killian had folded himself back into Emma’s life with ease, charming Mary Margaret during roommate dinners and bringing David with him to the cages so they could practice with Henry.

They were still waiting on word of the repercussions of Henry’s feature story – holding their collective breath for word that the DOE had decided to see sense. Emma had written another story – this one with the approval of Isaac and, for good measure, Sidney – detailing the department’s post-story reaction and how wrong they were regarding Henry’s eligibility.

They hadn't gotten any letters demanding a retraction yet, but they also hadn’t gotten any positive news.

So Killian kept bringing Henry to the cages, fine-tuning his swing and practicing baserunning. They had even started shagging fly balls on the small spot of turf at Chelsea Piers before it got too cold and they had to find a new venue for their regiment.

Emma couldn’t stop smiling. And then, one day, she walked into _The New York Record_ office and everything changed.

Aurora was standing in front of her desk, scrolling through her phone, an air of general disapproval wafting off her. Her head snapped up when she heard Emma’s shoes on the floor and the smile she gave didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, suddenly nervous. “How’s the baby?”  
  
“The baby is fine, good, actually, really, really good. Thanks.”

“I assume there are pictures,” Emma continued, nodding towards the phone still in Aurora’s hands.

She nodded, but didn’t move her phone at all, glancing back down at the screen when it buzzed again. “Everything ok?” Emma asked. “You’re not usually down here.”

Aurora didn’t answer immediately, fingers flying over the screen as she hummed some sort of distracted noise at Emma.

Emma took a step back towards her desk, roller her bag off her shoulder and setting it down next to her chair before sliding out of her jacket. “Aurora?” she repeated.

“Have you talked to Killian today?”

Emma shook her head slowly. He hadn’t been outside before. No hot chocolate or smirk. Emma had spent her entire train ride uptown trying not to worry.

She had failed.

“I think you probably should,” Aurora continued cryptically.

“Why?”

“Why what? He is your boyfriend isn’t he?”  
  
“My boyfriend, Killian?” Emma asked, eyes wide. They had never actually talked about _it._ There never seemed to be time – between the paper and the stories and the columns and the almost absurd amount of making out.

It had been perfect, it never _needed_ a name. Until now, apparently.

Aurora made a face, staring at Emma like she was a crazy person. “Yeah, your _boyfriend_.”

“Right,” Emma said quickly.

“You should probably talk about that at some point.”  
  
“You are talking in circles,” Emma pointed out. “You never come down here Aurora, what is going on?”

“He was right,” Aurora said – as cryptic as ever.

Emma stared at her for a beat before glancing down at her phone, lighting up and vibrating against her desk. It was Killian.

Aurora nodded at the phone, silently telling Emma to _answer it_. Emma sighed, rolled her eyes and grabbed the phone anyway.

“Hey,” she said.

“Swan.”

“You ok?”

He didn’t answer for what felt like hours. “Killian,” Emma prompted, feeling Aurora stare at her. “What’s going on?”  
  
“They really are back. Here in New York.”

Gold. And Milah.

Killian laughed darkly into the phone and Emma shut her eyes, biting down tightly on her lip. Aurora was still staring at her.

“That’s how Walsh knew. He...he figured it all out, then went and confirmed it.”

“How did you find out?”

He paused again and Emma heard him take a deep breath. She wished he was there. She wished she wasn’t sitting at her desk in the middle of _The New York Record_ sports department. She wished Aurora would stop staring at her with some sort of _knowing_ look on her face.

“Killian,” she prompted again and he sighed.

“Milah showed up at my apartment this morning.”

This time it was Emma who didn’t say anything. She sank back into her chair, pushing her back up against it so she was perfectly straight. Aurora raised her eyebrows at her and Emma just shook her head slowly.

“Swan?” Killian asked softly. Emma could hear the small, nervous smile in her voice. That was enough to snap her attention back.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” she muttered. “Are you ok?”

“What?”

“Ok – are you ok?”

He answered quickly – quicker than Emma expected – and she _knew_ he was tugging on the back of his hair. “I’m fine, love,” he answered. “I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there before.”

“That’s ok,” Emma smiled.

“I’m like three blocks away now.”

“Ok.”  
  
“Swan,” he said evenly, but there was a threat of laughter in his voice. “That wasn’t a timetable. That was a suggested instruction.”  
  
“That so?”

“I’d be very interested in kissing you. Currently.”  
  
Emma felt her lips tick up quickly. “I’ll see what I can do about that.” He didn’t say anything else, but Emma heard him laugh before he clicked off the phone.

“What’d he say?” Aurora asked.

“What you were cryptically implying.”  
  
“It wasn’t cryptic! You knew what I was saying. Did he tell you what Milah said?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“You tell me.”

“A lot apparently.”

“Milah told him quite a lot,” Aurora sighed.

“You’re being cryptic again. Why do you know, anyway? This happened like two hours ago.”

“Who do you think he called to find out how to tell you?”

Emma pulled her lips over her teeth, considering her answer and crossed her arms. “To be fair, he didn’t really tell me anything.”  
  
“Yeah, well, Killian’s never been too good at actually taking the advice he asks for.”

“Can you tell me something?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Shoot.”

“How did you and Killian get to be friends? He uh…”  
  
“Doesn’t seem like he has a lot of them?” Aurora suggested. Emma shrugged. “He doesn’t, really,” she continued. “That’s why _you’re_ so important, you know. You’re his friend. And I’ll tell you right now, having Killian as a friend is a good deal. He’s fairly protective, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Emma nodded. “That didn’t exactly answer my question though.”  
  
“I was in a not-so-great place awhile ago. When I first started at _The Record_. Killian had been here for, I don’t know, not even a year. But he was already writing a column and he had some pull down here and he made sure I’d get credentialed for games.

And, slowly but surely, things got better. I _calmed down_ , for one, and started to get jobs without Killian’s help and that made the rest of my life a little bit better too. I was driving Philip insane because I was so worried about work. I was, well, let’s just say I was not the best person to deal with at the time. But Killian helped. He got me to relax and that helped with Philip. Neither one of them will admit it, but I’m ninety-nine percent positive Killian helped pick out my ring.”

Aurora held up her left hand as proof, showcasing a bright sapphire ring that was practically the same color of Killian’s eyes. Emma wanted to crawl under her desk with the level of _cliche_ she had encountered.

“He loves you, you know,” Aurora said suddenly. Emma’s eyes widened and she felt her breath rush out of her in one gush of air. “Like an almost ridiculous amount.”

Emma didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just bit her lip – tightly.

Aurora just shook her head. “And you love him. Like an almost ridiculous amount. It’s painfully obvious. Even if lifestyles wasn’t talking about it.”

“Lifestyles is talking about it?” Emma groaned.

“That’s what you took out of this conversation?”

“We haven’t exactly been trying to broadcast this,” Emma admitted.

“Exactly. He needs to tell you what Milah told him.”

“Is it bad?” Emma knew her voice betrayed every single emotion she was feeling, but mostly she was just upset with how _nervous_ she sounded. That wasn’t like Emma at all. She didn’t do nervous. She did confident.

Aurora looked at her knowingly, one eyebrow raised. Someday someone was going to have to teach Emma how to do that.

“It’s not good,” Aurora said. Cryptic again. Emma sighed. “I’m not going to tell you,” she continued. “He needs to do it. And he wants to. Honestly. He wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t. You know I think you terrify him a little bit.”  
  
“Why?”

“Did you miss the part where I said how in love he is with you? That wasn’t conjecture. That was just a fact.”  
  
“And that’s terrifying.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Because Emma was just as vaguely terrified. And just as ridiculously in love with him.

“He’s told you things,” Aurora said. “Things I don’t even know, so I know you understand why he’d be nervous. He wants to this to work. Scratch that, he needs this to work.”

“And whatever Milah told him could make this not work?”

“You’re quick on the uptake.”  
  
“Journalist,” Emma shrugged.

“He’s not just going to walk away,” Aurora promised. “But this is going to make things...difficult. 'Ish. Difficult'ish. So I’ve got a question for you.”  
  
“Yeah?”

“Are you in on this? With him, I mean. Because Killian has dealt with some shit – some of it from you – and he doesn’t deserve it. So if you’re going to run when this gets tough, then you need to tell him now.”

Emma stared at Aurora, stunned silent. She hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of the _don’t hurt him_ speech. In fact, she hadn’t even been aware that anything like that actually happened in the real world.

“Well?” Aurora said sharply.

“Look who’s being the overprotective friend now.”

“You love him?” Aurora asked – straight to the point, finally.

“Yeah, I do,” Emma said softly. That was the first time she admitted it out loud. Mary Margaret and Elsa would be disappointed.

“Then you need to go meet him three blocks from here. And talk to him.”  
  
“How did you know he was three blocks from here?”  
  
“Mom,” Aurora shrugged. “I’m pre-programmed to hear any noise that comes across any speaker now. It’s just second nature.”

Emma laughed and shook her head, grabbing her jacket and shrugging back into the coat, pulling her wallet and her ID out of her bag. “He deserves a friend like you,” Emma said, reaching forward to squeeze Aurora’s arm.

“He’s an absurdly good guy. I just want him to be happy.”

“That makes two of us,” Emma agreed, smiling and squeezing Aurora’s arm again before turning towards the sports floor doors.

* * *

He was standing outside of Josie’s, one hand in his pocket, the other firmly entrenched in his hair like it had been there for hours – like he had been there for hours.

Emma tapped her foot on the street, impatiently waiting for the light – or a lack of cars – and ran her tongue over her teeth. She got a five-second window and sprinted across the street, holding her phone tightly in her hand.

Killian glanced up at her when she skidded to a stop in front of him and the smile he threw Emma’s way – almost  – made it seem like everything was alright.

“Hey,” she said, stuffing her phone back in her jacket pocket.

“Swan.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t move his hands – either of them – didn’t even move an inch away from the building he was leaning against. Emma tilted her head questioningly and tugged on the bottom of his shirt sleeve.

That got him to _really_ smile.

“What’s going on?” Emma pressed.

“A lot actually,” he said, evasively and Emma sighed.

“Don’t do that. I can only do so much cryptic in one day.” Killian raised his eyebrows and Emma made a face. “Aurora likes to kind of lord information doesn’t she? It lasted a lot longer than it probably should have.”

“She does,” Killian laughed. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I did tell you – she showed up at my apartment.”

Emma realized he didn’t say _Milah_ again, like he had on the phone, and wondered what had changed in the ten minutes it took her to get ten blocks.

He was thinking too much.

“And?”  
  
“And…”

“Killian! Talk.”

He looked a bit ashamed, eyes ducking down and staring at the sidewalk. He – finally – pulled his hand out of his pocket, only to run that through his hair as well and Emma sighed again. She yanked on his wrist, pulling his hand down and lacing her fingers with hers, moving to stand next to him with her back against the building.

“I’m sorry, love,” he repeated.

“Don’t be. Talk.”  
  
“From what I remember, the suggestion to come here wasn’t centered around talking.”  
  
“Talk,” Emma groaned, trying not to smile despite her nerves and vague sense of annoyance. “Then we’ll consider the rest of the suggestion.”

Killian laughed quietly and Emma pulled his hand up again, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Alright,” he started. “So, she showed up at my apartment. Scared the crap out of me. Seven years, Swan. Seven years of nothing and running away and then even more nothing and I fucking walked out of my apartment this morning to find her standing right there. She said she had something important to tell me.”

“Now?” Emma asked, unable to stop herself. _Journalist_. “After all of that? What could she possibly have to say?”  
  
“He’s trying to buy the paper.”  
  
“What?”

Killian’s arm squeezed tightly over her shoulders again and Emma bit her lip nervously. “They’re in New York,” he continued. “Indefinitely.”

“And what? Gold wants to buy _The Record?_  I thought you said he was just some small-town publisher?”  
  
“He was when I knew him. He was a scared, little man who didn’t want to leave his own backyard let alone consider buying a major metropolitan newspaper. That’s all changed now, apparently.”  
  
“And Milah told you that?” Emma’s chest contracted slightly at mentioning the name, but it wasn’t jealousy. If Killian couldn’t bring himself to say it, it didn’t seem fair to throw that pain back in his face.

She felt him nod – head resting slightly against his cheek – and heard him sigh softly. “She did.”

“But why? Did she say anything else? Why she left or how long they’ve been here or anything like that?”  
  
“You’re a very good journalist, Swan.”

“I’m not interviewing you,” she argued. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“I know you are, love,” he said softly.

“And also a bit worried,” Emma added. “About you.”

Killian squeezed her shoulder again, kissing the top of her head and Emma felt her lips tick up slightly. “I know that too,” he mumbled against her hair. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t answer any of those questions. The whole thing was over in less than five minutes. She didn’t say anything about before, just told me that they’re back in New York and Gold is trying to buy _The Record._ Wanted to give me some kind of warning or something.”  
  
“A warning?” Emma moved slightly, turning so she was standing in front of Killian, eyes locked with his.

“If Gold buys this paper, I’m out,” Killian said easily, but Emma heard the tightness in his voice and felt the tension in his shoulders. “It would take two seconds. He’d sign the paperwork and I’d be done.”

“You don’t know that.”

“That’s why Milah showed up love,” he continued, finally saying her name and Emma did her best to smile encouragingly. “To warn me. Or something.”

“Or something?”

Killian sighed and shook his head slowly, hair falling across his forehead. He still hadn’t gotten a haircut. “Something,” he said slowly. “It’d be over, Swan. Gold wouldn’t have to consider it. He wouldn’t feel bad. He’d just do it.”

“Seven years is a long time though,” Emma said quickly. “He might not...you know..care or something?”  
  
“That’s oddly optimistic of you.”

Emma shrugged. That was an _entirely_ different conversation – one filled with hope and acting like Mary Margaret and, maybe, even a few thoughts of happy endings. That wasn’t the kind of conversation to have three blocks away from _The New York Record_ office.

“I appreciate the positivity, Swan, but it’s a bit misplaced. He’d do it and he’d enjoy it. I’d be done.”

She bit her lip tightly, hard enough to hurt and did her best to hold Killian’s gaze. “So what else did she say?”

“Honestly Swan, it all felt like a blur. She was there one minute, telling me about this deal and how Gold had spent the last seven years buying up papers across the country so he could build enough capital to make a run at a big-time paper and that he wanted _The Record._ Then she told me that he knew I was there and that if he bought the paper, I’d be out. And then she was gone.”

“Just like that?”  
  
“Just like that.”

Lie. Emma raised her eyebrows and made a face, twisting her mouth slightly. “Nuh uh, we’re not doing that. Talk to me.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged slightly and Emma widened her eyes. “It wasn’t all that good, love. Or enjoyable.”  
  
“I get that. I do, honestly, but you don’t have to lie.”

“An omission, really.”

“A lie.”

Killian tugged on Emma’s hands, pulling her back towards his side and wrapping a hand around her waist. “Not the entire truth,” he countered and Emma huffed slightly. “I wasn’t quite prepared for this.”  
  
“That’s understandable.” Emma felt him move next to her and glanced up to find Killian staring at her questioningly. “What?”  
  
“That it?”  
  
“That it, what?”

“You’re not usually quite so quick to stop arguing.” He was smiling now – _smirking_ – and Emma did her best to resist the urge to smack his arm.

“I’m not arguing!” Killian rolled his eyes and Emma groaned, her whole body slumping forward with the effort. “Ok, not really. I’m just worried. You saw Neal just show up on the sidewalk before, so I’m well acquainted with the feeling of major love interests just reappearing in your life when you think you’re finally over them.”

Emma swore she saw something pass over Killian’s face and there was something close to a glint in his eyes. “What?” she asked.

“Neal showed up months ago.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“You weren’t over Neal until then?”

 _Journalist._  Taking her words and twisting them and finding some sort of unspoken, emotional truth there. Emma took a deep breath, trying to steady it through her nose and straightened her spine, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“We’re talking about you,” she pointed out, stabbing one finger into his shoulder for good measure.

“You brought it up.” The smirk was a full-blown smile now and Emma couldn’t think straight.

“Fine,” she said quickly, every emotion coming to a head all at once. “Fine. You want me to come right out and say it? Ok. I wasn’t over Neal. Not for a very long time and I didn’t believe I could be for a very long time. And then I ran you over and you messed up my interview and let me pick out flowers for Aurora and started texting David and, well, that was that.”  
  
“That was that?”

“Exactly.”

He squeezed his hand – still very much wrapped around her shoulder – tightly and Emma had about half a second to gasp before he kissed her.

They had done this innumerable times now – the making out was a definite perk of their still as-yet-to-be-defined relationship status – but this was _softer_ and so absurdly sweet that if Emma wasn’t on the receiving end of it she probably would have mocked it. His hand never left her waist.

“Hey,” he muttered, lips still practically brushing hers. “You know you don’t have anything to worry about, right?”

Emma scoffed. Killian’s eyebrows lowered and he pulled away slightly, finally, moving his hand and trailing his thumb along her jaw. “Well,” he admitted slowly, the smile inching across his face. “At least not about Milah. I was a mess when she left and for a long time after, but we’re on the same page now. Same graph and everything.”

“Have we moved on from sports to writing puns? I may be out if we’re doing that from now on.”

“Not entertained, love?” Killian laughed, making a face.

“The puns have got to stop.”

“That’s fair. And you don’t have to worry about me. At least when it comes to me and you. Everything else, though, is well within your right to worry about. I’m worried about that.”

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek, her face – she was sure  – filled with the worry that was threatening to overtake her right there on the sidewalk. She needed Killian to kiss her again. He was right, that was a better way to spend their time.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered.

And it wasn’t. Not after everything he’d been through, not after everything he’d lost and everyone he’d seen walk away. He couldn’t lose writing too.

It wasn’t fair.

“In my experience,” he said slowly and so softly that Emma had to strain to hear him. “Not many things ever are.”

“Maybe he won’t buy the paper,” Emma suggested, hoping her voice didn’t sound nearly as unconvinced as she actually was. If Milah was showing up on sidewalks and giving prophetic warnings, _The New York Record_ seemed as good as Gold’s.

“More optimism, Swan. But we both know that’s all it is. Optimism. This is the crowning jewel for him. If what Milah said is true, and he’s been building up papers to get back to New York, then this would be a coup. He’d be at the top.”

“And you’d be?”  
  
“Not at the top.”

“I can’t believe that’ll happen. I _won’t_. Not after everything you’ve done. Not after how hard you’ve worked. He may hate you, but you’re the best there is. If he’s got even half a brain in his head, he’d keep you just to keep your sources.”

Killian was shaking his head before Emma had even finished talking. “I thought that,” he admitted. “But I think this is the beginning of the end, love. Remember what Isaac said? That the paper couldn’t afford letters from the DOE or less-than-ideal receptions to stories?” Emma nodded. “I think it’s because of this. Gold isn’t just buying, they’re selling. It’s a partnership.”  
  
“Isaac likes you though! They all do, all of the top floor. They wouldn’t let Gold throw you to the curb. Aurora told me they were grooming you for EIC.”  
  
“A thinks far too highly of me. I never would have taken that.”

“You’d be good that though,” Emma muttered, mostly into his shoulder. She felt him move, laughing slightly.

“You think far too highly of me,” he said quietly.

“Not possible.”

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer to him and Emma shut her eyes for a moment, trying to come up with a way that this entire mess didn’t end with another disappointment for Killian Jones.

It wasn’t fair.

“So, what now?” Emma asked.

“Now,” Killian sighed. “I still have a job. And we have a section to put out every day. So until somebody takes my ID card and tells me to get the hell out of there, then I’m going to continue to do all of that.”  
  
“Plus,” he added. “We’ve got a professional baseball career to ensure. I’m not leaving until Henry’s back on the field. Officially.”

“Yeah?” she asked – a wholly insufficient response when she was positive anyone on the other side of the block would have been able to hear her heart thud in her chest.

“Yeah,” Killian answered.

It sounded like a promise.

* * *

Emma nearly jumped out of her chair when he put the cup down on her desk.

“Jeez, Killian,” she mumbled. “That was terrifying.”

She glanced up to find him beaming at her. That was something she hadn’t seen in several days.

He had gone back to work after that conversation – and abbreviated make-out session – three blocks away from _The New York Record_ office as if Milah hadn’t just shown on his doorstep and told him that the one man who could ruin his entire life was planning on doing just that.

Emma would have been impressed if she wasn’t worried.

He even wrote a column.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, still smiling as he leaned against the desk, sitting on the edge of the fake wood. “I figured you could use some mid-afternoon caffeine.”

She could.

Emma had been on the phone for the better part of the afternoon, alternating between Anna’s office, the DOE and texting minute-by-minute updates to Henry. The first story had run nearly a month ago and there was still _no_ word about getting him back onto the field.

She was going to fix this and she’d spend the entire week on the phone if she had to. She also could use the caffeine.

“Thank you,” Emma replied gratefully, grabbing the cup and taking a sip before turning back to her cell phone, glancing down as her screen lit up.

“What is it?” Killian asked, nodding towards the now beeping phone.

“Anna,” she muttered, grabbing it and swiping her thumb across the screen.

“Emma!” Ana’s voice hadn’t lost any of its excitement or enthusiasm during any of their half a dozen conversations that afternoon. “I have news. Good news. The best news!”

“What’s going on?”

Killian’s gaze snapped towards Emma and the phone as she moved it onto her shoulder. “I’ve been talking to my boss,” Anna said, her words coming across the phone line at a metaphorical mile a minute. “And I think I’ve figured out a way to get Henry back on the field.”

“What? How? Anna, that’s incredible!” Emma ignored Killian’s wide-eyed stare and slightly bemused smile and focused on the _other_ conversation she was having – the one with actual words and not just pointed stares across a few feet of space.

“Like I said, talking to my boss, and you’re never going to believe this, but his _wife_ is Henry’s guidance counselor.”  
  
“For real?”  
  
“Absolutely for real. So Eric and I were talking this afternoon and I guess Ariel has been telling him about what’s going on with Henry and how much he wants to play again and he _thinks_ he can talk to the DOE. Get them to change their minds. Or one mind. I don’t know who we have to convince exactly, but Eric thinks he can do it.”  
  
“How? Henry doesn’t have the money to hire someone. He’s 17 and I can’t do anything. That’s like the worst conflict of interest ever.”  
  
“No one’s hiring anyone,” Anna continued. “Eric said he’d do it on his own. He’s not actually going to _sue_ the DOE. He’s just going to maybe suggest that they get their act straight. And he might bring up that case we talked about before.”  
  
“Precedent,” Emma muttered, half under her breath. Killian coughed meaningfully and Emma continued to ignore him, waving her hand slightly in the _very_ small amount of space between them.

“Exactly! Exactly that! No one has to go to court or anything dramatic like that. No one even has to pay for anything. This is about a kid who didn’t get a fair shot at doing what he loves. That’s why this office exists, to try and fix things like that.”

“And you think that’ll work?” Emma asked.

She promised. She had promised Henry. She needed to make this work.

She also wasn’t good at trusting other people.

“I really think it will,” Anna answered and the honesty in her voice was practically overwhelming. “Eric won’t sue, but he can and _that_ should be enough to scare them. You’re right Emma. Everything you wrote – in both of those articles – was right. They’re wrong, dead wrong and they’re trying to cover their tracks. But you figured it out and now they’ve got to let Henry play. They just have to.”  
  
Anna’s voice caught on the final sentence of her mini-speech and Emma smiled slightly, sitting up a little straighter so she wouldn’t start to do anything ridiculous like _feel_ something as well. Killian was still sitting on her desk.

“Can I tell Henry?” Emma asked.

“Absolutely! Eric is determined and, trust me on this, when Eric is determined there aren’t many things that can stop him. I’m pretty positive he dueled for Ariel’s hand in marriage or something like that.”

“That so?” Emma laughed. Killian sighed dramatically, trying to win back some of her attention. She just rolled her eyes at him.

He winked.

Cocky asshole.

Ridiculously attractive cocky asshole.

“Well, I don’t know the specifics,” Anna said, entirely unaware of the side conversation happening at Emma’s desk. “But Eric likes to make it sound like a painfully romantic battle for his one true love’s heart. Or something like that.”  
  
“Something like that, I’m sure,” Emma answered, still laughing slightly. “Listen, Anna. I can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty here, seriously.”  
  
“Oh, don’t even worry about it. This is, well, this is what I want to be doing. Helping. And if I can help Henry by helping you, then it’s kind of like a two for one of helpiness. Is that even a word? I don’t care. Helpiness.”

“Well, you’re incredibly good at it. Thank you. I’m going to text Henry.”  
  
“Eric said he’d call the DOE tomorrow if you want. He just wanted to have me run it by you first.”

“That’s incredibly efficient.”  
  
“That’s Eric,” Anna answered. “He saw your story and he _knew_ I was your source. He wasn’t even mad, told me I should have directed you to him from the get-go and he would have gone on record. He loved your story.”

That caught Emma up short. Compliments were – still – not her forte.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and Killian smiled knowingly at her, like he could hear the entire conversation. “Tell Eric he can call the DOE whenever he wants. Just let me know how it goes as soon as you know, ok?”  
  
“Absolutely!”  
  
Emma pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the ‘end’ button, tossing it in front of her. Killian stared at her expectantly, arms crossed, that same slightly bemused smile on his face.

“What’s going on Swan?” he asked, pushing the hot chocolate back towards her. Emma widened her eyes at him, but took the cup anyway. “It’ll get cold,” he added. “Drink. And then tell me what that was about.”

“Demanding,” Emma muttered.

“Suggesting.”

“Yuh huh,” she laughed, taking a sip of her, somehow, still-hot hot chocolate. “That was Anna. Apparently her boss is Ariel’s husband.”  
  
“Henry’s guidance counselor?”  
  
“One in the same. And he wants to talk to the DOE.”

“Just like that?” He was as skeptical as she was – somehow that made Emma more confident, like they were on even footing.

“Well it was a long phone call and an even more convoluted story, but, yes, for all intents and purposes, just like that. She said he liked my story.”  
  
“Of course he did.”  
  
“Your confidence is in me is misplaced and slightly overwhelming.”

Emma ducked her eyes and took another drink of hot chocolate. She heard Killian sigh. “That’s ridiculous you know,” he said softly.

“Sure.”

“Swan,” he said sharply and Emma looked up at him to find her staring at her. “I have an appropriate amount of faith in both you and your writing. That, generally, equates to believing you’re capable of doing anything you set your mind to. That’s not misplaced. That’s just honest.”

There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice, no smirk, or even the faintest feeling that he was lying. He was one hundred percent honest and just as serious and Emma was completely overwhelmed.

She couldn’t say _I love you_ in the middle of _The Record_ sports floor, but God, if she didn’t want to.

“You can’t say things like that,” she said.

“Why not?”  
  
“Because I’m going to try and kiss you in the middle of this office and that’s just not going to end well for anyone.”  
  
“I’ll repeat myself – why not?”

The sarcasm was back. So was the smirk. And for a moment Emma couldn't come up with a reason _not_ to lean across the desk and kiss him. For possibly several sunlit days.

“Killian,” she said slowly, doing her best to not sound like she was whining. “You know that’s not an option. We’re not trying to _parade_ here.”  
  
“No one is parading, Swan. I’m just not particularly pleased with the idea of not being able to kiss my girlfriend whenever I want.”

Emma felt like her lungs had collapsed.

She hadn’t been lying when she told Aurora they hadn’t talked about it. They hadn’t. They hadn’t even mentioned it in passing. Even Mary Margaret and David had avoided the “labels” discussion like it was the plague.

And he had just said _it_ like it wasn’t anything, like it wasn’t some kind of absolutely enormous step that meant a ridiculous amount.

It took Killian several moments to realize that Emma was sitting still, stunned silent. He stood up when he saw her face – probably stunned as well and just as frozen as the rest of Emma’s body – and, suddenly, he looked as nervous as she felt.

That wasn’t right.

Emma took a deep breath. It was weird – she didn’t run. She didn’t react _perfectly_ , but one step at a time. She was still there. And he was still there.

And maybe that was the only thing that mattered.

“You ok, Swan?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah,” she answered honestly. “You just surprised me?”  
  
His eyebrows lowered and Emma could practically see him replaying the last few seconds back in his head. Killian made a face when it hit him and he crossed his arms again.

Defensive stance.

Emma reached out quickly and tugged his arms apart, squeezing one hand for good measure. “I guess I just didn’t realize you were...well thinking _that._ ”  
  
“Should I be thinking something else?”

“No,” Emma answered, shaking her head. “I just haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a very long time.”  
  
“To be fair, I don’t know that I’ve been anyone’s boyfriend ever.”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

Killian smiled and rocked back on his heels and trailed his fingers over Emma’s. “Thank you, love,” he said softly. Emma smiled in return. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’d very much like to kiss you.”  
  
“Will would be scandalized.”  
  
“I couldn’t care less.”  
  
He leaned forward slightly and for one insane moment Emma actually thought he _was_ going to kiss her in the middle of _The New York Record_ office, but he came up just short of her, still smiling.

“I have an idea about how to remedy that,” he said softly and Emma bit her lip tightly.

“Make out in the elevator?”

“They have cameras in there,” Killian laughed. “Leroy would be all over that.”  
  
“Well, you’ve taken all my suggestions and tossed them out of the metaphorical window. So, go ahead, what’s your idea?”

“The Giants game.”

Emma waited for the next part of the idea, but he didn’t say anything else, just threw a self-satisfied smirk her direction. “Ok,” she said slowly.

“We’re going to go.”  
  
“To the Giants game?”  
  
“On Sunday. I know a guy.”  
  
“You know every guy.”

“That’s true, Swan, but in this case I know one guy and he can make it so we can go to the Giants game on Sunday.”  
  
“You don’t have to work?”  
  
Killian sighed and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I did, Swan. Obviously. We can bring David and Mary Margaret too if you.”  
  
“You want to double date with my friends?”

“Again, I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t actually suggesting it.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and wondered how _no one_ had noticed that they hadn’t moved in nearly 20 minutes. They weren’t trying to flaunt their relationship to the entire _New York Record_ – that conversation with Isaac about their out-of-office activities seemed to have created an ever-present knot in Emma’s stomach.

But even Emma had to admit they were, undoubtedly, the talk of the entire building.

Her _boyfriend_ Killian Jones.

“How many tickets does your guy think he can get?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet.”

“No?”  
  
“I wanted to make sure you wanted to go,” he muttered and Emma almost missed the nervous edge in his voice.

“Of course I want to go,” she said honestly, brushing her hand over his hand. “You think we’d be able to make out during the Giants game?”  
  
“In front of David and Mary Margaret? Won’t they be scandalized?”  
  
“I’m fairly certain I don’t care,” Emma shrugged. “Plus, they owe me. They’ve spent the last 13 years of our lives making out in front of me and being painfully adorable. Trust me, I deserve this.”

“Are you saying we’re painfully adorable?”

“Not yet, but I’m confident in our ability to get there sooner rather than later.”  
  
Killian opened his mouth to answer her, but spun around before he could – turning towards Victor’s voice from the other side of the office.

“Basketball crisis, Cap!” he screamed and Killian groaned. “They’re expanding media day! Giving us an extra credential.”  
  
“That isn’t a crisis,” Killian mumbled and Emma tried not to laugh. “We have reporters, Victor. We can send them. Relax.”

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Emma. “You should go, Swan. Make Victor pay for the cab.”  
  
“The paper comps that.”  
  
“Doesn’t change the fact that you should go.” He turned away from her desk again and shouted back towards Victor. “Swan’s going to go with you, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s great! Good job Cap, crisis averted.”

Killian shook his head again and all but collapsed back on Emma’s desk, knocking over her nameplate in the process. “Hey,” she said sharply. “Watch it.”

He looked back over his shoulder again. “Sorry, love.”

Emma smiled and moved the nameplate out of the way. “What time am I going to this?”  
  
“Tomorrow. Morning, sorry about that by the way, but media day for the Knicks is pretty legit.”

“Absolutely. I can do morning.”

“As previously discussed, I think you can do anything.”

“Charmer.”  
  
“Boyfriend.”

Emma’s stomach flipped and she smiled, letting the feeling of that one single, vaguely ridiculous and teenage label, sink into every aspect of her being. She liked the way it felt. A lot.

A lot more than she expected to.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Emma promised. “And I’ll tell M’s and David about the game. They’ll be thrilled.”  
  
He smiled at her again, standing up and running one hand through his hair. “Good,” he said softly, leaning forward so quickly Emma was certain he was actually a blur and kissing her on the cheek.

Emma widened her eyes. “Living dangerously,” she said.

“I’m going to kiss my girlfriend whenever I want, stupid office be damned. I’ll see you later, Swan.”

He walked away, eyes pointed forward and Emma tried not to _actually_ melt into the floor. The lifestyles department was going into collective cardiac arrest.


	35. Chapter 35

David was wearing a Patriots jersey and Emma was furious. 

“I am allowed to root for whatever team I want to root for, Emma,” he said for what was certainly the tenth time since he had walked out of Mary Margaret’s room. That was over an hour and two trains ago and Emma still hadn’t let it go.

She wasn’t planning on ever letting it go.

“It’s a stupid jersey,” Emma mumbled, holding tighter onto the handle so generously provided to her by New Jersey transit.

“That’s a really good argument, Emma,” David retorted, gripping his own rail a bit tighter. “He’s won Super Bowls.  _ Multiple _ Super Bowls.”  
  
“So has Eli Manning.”

“You’re not going to win this argument, love,” Killian muttered behind her, wrapping his arm tightly around Emma’s shoulders. She leaned against him, giving up on the handle in front of her. 

“I’m going to go down fighting,” she answered. 

He kissed the top of her head and Emma felt him laugh against her. “Of course you are.”  
  
“What is it that you have against Tom Brady, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked, pulling on her own oversized jersey. “I mean, he has won Super Bowls.”  
  
“That doesn’t make him a good person.”  
  
“What would make him a bad person?”  
  
“He wears Uggs.”

“That’s an endorsement, Emma!” David yelled, drawing a few curious stares and one very pointed glare from a man whose entire face was painted blue. “He gets paid for that. That doesn’t necessarily mean he wears Uggs all the time.”  
  
“You’re honestly telling me you don’t think Tom Brady wears Uggs regularly? Because I think Tom Brady wears Uggs regularly.”  
  
“You know him don’t you, Killian?” David asked, ignoring Emma completely. “Does Tom wear Uggs?”   
  
“You’re calling him Tom now?” Mary Margaret asked, not even to disguise her laughter. Emma made a face. 

“I don’t actually know Tom Brady,” Killian said, fingers toying with Emma’s hair. “I’ve been to press conferences that Tom Brady is at, but that hardly makes us friends.”  
  
“He wore Uggs to a press conference once!” Emma added and David groaned. 

“That is true,” Killian said and David practically collapsed on the floor of the train. “That did happen.”  
  
“I win,” Emma said, smiling. 

“Whatever,” David said distractedly and Emma’s smile threatened to take over her entire face. “Of course your boyfriend would side with you.”  
  
Emma heard Mary Margaret gasp slightly and widened her eyes  _ meaningfully  _ at her. She got the hint. A decade of living together makes words unnecessary when trying to discuss boyfriends on jam-packed public transportation. 

“I win,” Emma repeated and David got the hint as well. 

The train skidded to a stop a few minutes later – all talk of Tom Brady’s footwear tabled for the time being – and Killian directed them around the hordes of people waiting to get into the stadium. His hand had found its way to Emma’s and he tugged lightly, moving her around another line towards a door that she almost certainly would have walked by if she hadn’t been looking specifically for it.   

“Where are we going?” she asked as Killian swung open the door, letting Mary Margaret and David in first. 

“You’ll see.”  
  
“Cryptic.”  
  
“It’s a surprise, Swan,” he said and she could hear the eye roll in his voice. “We’ve got to go meet my guy.”  
  
“You still haven’t told me who this guy is. I’m starting to think he might not even exist.”  
  
“And miss the chance to see you in a child-size jersey tonight? The guy absolutely exists and so do the seats.”  
  
“Listen, child-size jerseys are cheaper," Emma argued, ignoring the glint in Killian's eyes that practically screamed he was teasing her. "You going to tell me who this guy is or should I start guessing?”  
  
Killian sighed, pulling her and her friends farther down the hallway. If Emma didn’t know better, they were in some sort of basement corridor in MetLife Stadium. “You’d never figure it out even if you did start guessing,” he said. 

“So then share with the class.”  
  
Mary Margaret and David had dropped back a few steps, falling into the conversation and staring wide-eyed at Killian, just as curious as Emma was. He shook his head slightly, squeezing Emma’s hand and glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. 

“His name is Josh.”  
  
“Josh,” Emma answered skeptically. “Josh the ticket guy?”  
  
“No, Josh the jersey guy.”  
  
“The equipment manager?”  
  
“No, jerseys. Only jerseys. He sews them, you know, names, numbers, logos. That kind of thing.”  
  
“And you know him?”  
  
“Wrote about him a couple of years ago, kept in touch. He knows the equipment manager.”  
  
“And Josh can get you tickets.”  
  
“Josh gets tickets every home game. Gets ‘em instead of taking money.”  
  
“And he just gave them to you?”

Killian stopped again in front of an elevator that Emma was also certain she wouldn’t have ever noticed. He leaned forward and hit the button, opening the door to reveal a worker inside. “What is going  _ on _ ?” Emma asked, spinning towards Killian and walking backwards into the elevator as he dragged her in. Mary Margaret and David looked amused. 

“Are you interviewing me, Swan?”

“You’re not answering any of my questions!” 

He nodded towards the man in the elevator, telling him what floor they were going to and threw Emma a smile that  _ certainly  _ did  _ not _ make her stomach flip. “I have answered every single one of your questions, love. You just seem to have a never-ending supply of them.”

“Here,” the other man said softly and Killian pulled on Emma’s hand, as they walked into yet another hallway. 

“Emma’s not good at surprises,” Mary Margaret said softly. “You’ve got to provide a detailed schedule or she’s liable to freak out just a bit.”  
  
“Thanks for really selling it, M’s,” Emma muttered and Mary Margaret shrugged. 

“I’ll remember that,” Killian said, stepping up to a security guard in front of another set of doors. These ones were fancier than the others, double glass panes with Giants logos emblazoned on them. Emma could barely make out a small sea of people beyond them. 

“Can I help you?” the guard asked and Killian let go Emma’s hand, walking up to the small podium in front of them. 

“Killian Jones,” he said. “Should be four tickets. Josh Williamson left them.”

The security guard looked down at the podium, scrolling through the tablet in front of him and nodded his head when he, presumably, ran over the right name. “Got them,” he said, handing over the tickets to Killian. “Enjoy.”  
  
“Thanks.” Killian turned back to them – a very stunned Emma, Mary Margaret and David – and smiled. “C’mon. Down the hall.”  
  
“More hallways?” Emma asked, making a face as Killian held his hand out expectantly. She took it without a second thought. 

“One more hallway, Swan and then we’ll be there I promise.”

It wasn’t really a hallway, if they were going to get technical. It was more like a walkway. Or a very short path. 

It only took a few steps before they were swinging open  _ another _ door and walked into, without a doubt, the most incredible view Emma had ever seen. David whistled behind her and Mary Margaret whispered something that sounded like  _ wow _ . 

“This is insane,” Emma mumbled, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows directly over the 50-yard line. 

Killian shrugged, but he was smiling at Emma with this slightly excited energy rolling off him, like a kid who just remembered it was Christmas morning. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Is Josh the jersey guy secretly in the mob?

“Not that I’m aware of.”  
  
“So he might be in the mob,” David interjected. “Seems like you’d have to be in the mob to get seats like this.”

“We don’t talk about his personal life that much.”  
  
“He just gave you these seats?” Mary Margaret added, staring out the windows with slightly wide eyes. 

“He did,” Killian confirmed. “Couldn’t make it this week. When he mentioned it, I said I might be interested in taking them.”

“You really do know everyone,” Emma said, slightly amazed as she joined Mary Margaret next to the window. “Do you know Jerry Reese too? The entire Mara family?”  
  
“I know Jerry Reese in the same capacity that I know Tom Brady. I met one Mara once at some sort of charity event.”  
  
“I’m impressed,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and smiling at him.  _ Her boyfriend _ . And boss. But that was something else entirely. 

And something they hadn’t really talked about either. Emma ignored that. 

This was one of those copyrighted Mary Margaret  _ hope _ moments and she wasn’t going to let anything mess that up, especially not when said boyfriend was rocking back and forth on his heels, tugging on the back of his hair and grinning at her. 

The door opened again and four curious glances turned towards the door as a small army of waiters walked into the suite, armed with two rolling carts, covered with food and drinks. 

“There’s food too?” Emma asked. 

“Of course there’s food, love. Have you seen these seats? They’re certainly going to feed you too.”

Emma sighed and shook her head as Killian and David walked towards the now open food trays, stocked with every single stadium snack imaginable. “Are those onion rings over there?” Emma called, eyeing the small plate Killian was piling with the fried food.  
  
“For you,” he said, handing her the plate and kissing her lightly on the cheek. 

“Thanks,” Emma mumbled, staring at their hands as they brushed quickly during the – surprisingly romantic – onion ring exchange. He made a face at her before turning back towards David who was yelling something about  _ all of these drink choices _ and Emma felt Mary Margaret tug on her shirt slightly. 

“What’s the matter?” Emma asked, leaning against the window. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me. I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong with you.”  
  
“What would be wrong with me?”  
  
Mary Margaret eyed Emma speculatively. “This is a lot. This whole thing was a bit of a surprise and David called Killian your boyfriend.”

“Yeah.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret yelled, hitting her arm slightly and narrowing her eyes, so thin Emma could barely even see them.  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Don’t joke about this.”  
  
“I’m not laughing.”  
  
Mary Margaret huffed out a sigh and crossed her arms forcefully. “Your boyfriend?”

Emma shrugged. “I mean he’s not wrong, really,” she said. “And, you know, we kind of talked about that.”  
  
“Oh my God! And you didn’t say anything?”  
  
“It never came up.”  
  
“It didn’t have to come up. That’s the kind of thing you tell me as soon as you walk through the door. When?”  
  
“Couple days ago.” Mary Margaret’s whole body sagged and Emma fought off a wave of guilt, sticking her lip out slightly. “I’m sorry. It’s just...it’s new. You know? I haven’t had a  _ boyfriend _ since I was a teenager.”  
  
“You were 21 when you dated Neal.”

“Semantics.”   
  
“That was awhile ago though,” Mary Margaret conceded. 

“It was.”  
  
“And this, this new thing, this is good? For you?”  
  
“You worried about me, M’s?”  
  
“Almost always.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that, I’m all grown up,” Emma pointed out. 

“That hasn’t stopped me yet. Although I do wonder if I might have someone else to contend with for my worried-about-Emma real estate.” Mary Margaret glanced at Killian and David, a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth.

“I think you might be right,” Emma admitted. 

“So when are you going to tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re absolutely absurdly in love with him.”

Emma almost choked on an onion ring, glaring at Mary Margaret. “Jeez, M’s. You can’t just say shit like that.”  
  
“Every single one of those words were true. It’s been true for  _ months _ . Since before you brought him to Storybrooke.”  Mary Margaret stared at her thoughtfully and paused for a few moments before answering. “When you brought him home. That was the first time you two really interacted away from the paper. It was the first time he was a  _ person _ and you saw him in real life and you were, officially, a goner.”  
  
“That seems slightly macabre. I’m not a goner over anything.”  
  
“Unless it’s the sports editor of  _ The New York Record _ ,” Mary Margaret said pointedly and Emma sighed, shaking her head. “Then all bets are off.”

“You are far too romantic for your own good.”  
  
“For what it’s worth, I think you should tell him. Soon.”  
  
“M’s, not even three months ago I told him I didn’t think we should be doing this exact thing. I was very adamant about it.”  
  
“And now you’re not.”

Someday Emma was going to be as positive about anything as Mary Margaret was about everything. As it was, Emma was as firmly entrenched in the realism category as ever. And she was vaguely terrified of the whiplash.  
  
“It’s not that simple,” Emma said.  
  
“Because you are making it that difficult.”

“What are you making difficult, love?” Killian asked, appearing, seemingly, out of thin air. David wasn’t far behind, a drink in one hand and a plate piled with en-suite food in the other. Mary Margaret laughed openly at him. 

“Nothing,” Emma said quickly and, she knew, unconvincingly. 

Killian stared at her for a beat, eyes wide – not to mention absurdly blue – before handing her a glass. “Wine,” he said, answering her unspoken question with ease as he turned her slightly back towards the window. “Come on, they’re about to start.”

* * *

It didn’t take Emma long to relax and that meant it didn’t take long for Emma to start yelling at the game.

Every single play. 

Screaming and jumping and then screaming again. Much to the apparent amusement of Killian who, it seemed, had not stopped laughing for the last two hours.

“You know they can’t hear you, Swan?” he mumbled against her cheek, pulling her flush against him as she waved her arms frantically after  _ another _ incomplete pass. If the Patriots won this game, David was going to be absolutely unbearable. 

“I know, I know,” Emma said softly, leaning against his chest. “But I need them to win this game.”  
  
“Why is that?”

“I can’t deal with David for another two hours of public transportation if I don’t win this game.”  
  
“You’re winning the game?”

Emma rolled her eyes – fully aware that he couldn’t see her face – and leaned her head back so it was resting on Killian’s shoulder. That was, until, a Giants wide receiver hauled in a pass on the edge of the sideline and danced his way into the endzone. Then she leaned forward, jumping slightly – which proved a much more difficult task with a pair of arms very tightly wound around her waist. 

“I am  _ definitely _ winning the game,” Emma said emphatically, staring at David as she spoke. He looked properly ashamed and then reached out to flick her arm. 

“How did this happen, Swan?” Killian asked, turning Emma a bit so she was looking back at him. 

“How did what happen?”  
  
“You playing football for the New York Giants.”

Emma blinked and pulled her lips behind her teeth instinctively. Killian noticed that, but Emma shook her head. “Take a walk with me?” she asked, already pushing him towards the back of the suite. 

“Sure.”   
  
“We’re going to get some air,” Emma said, glancing back at Mary Margaret and David who simply nodded in response. 

They made their way down the hallway hand in hand, working towards the ticket-holder bar that apparently existed for people who were rich enough to regularly spend time in MetLife Stadium box seats. Killian pulled Emma up short, tugging on her arm in an attempt to, finally, get an answer to his question.

“Ok, so you’ve seen my room,” Emma started. “You know, at home, in Ingrid’s house?”   
  
Killian nodded. “Go on.”

“So, I landed in Storybrooke when I was 12, but before that I was in eight different houses and group homes, including a particularly terrible one in Boston.”

“The one you told Henry about? 

Emma ignored the rush of emotion that she felt when he remembered things and kept on sharing deep, dark aspects of her past. “That one,” she continued. “It was...awful. Family was terrible. Other kids were terrible. It was just, well it wasn’t a good place. And it was in Boston. That kind of stuck with me.”  
  
“Hold on, love,” Killian said slowly. “Are you telling me that you resent the Patriots because of this house?”  
  
“Maybe,” Emma mumbled, ducking her eyes and settling back into the realm of total embarrassment, previous rush of emotion forgotten as quickly as it came. “I mean, I know it’s crazy. But I was 12. And then Tom Brady showed up and started winning Super Bowls and I  _ hated _ him. So I picked a new team, determined to be different from the rest of New England.”  
  
“Why not some west coast team? That seems about as anti-New England as you could be.”  
  
“I considered that, but I needed a team I could watch too. So the Giants fit the bill. And that’s how we’ve ended up here. I know it’s dumb.”   
  
“It is the absolute opposite of that.”

That brought Emma up short. “What?”

“That makes perfect sense. At least it does to me. Why would you want to root for a team that reminded you of a place you hated?”

“Wow,” Emma mumbled. 

He raised one hand, cupping her jaw slightly, fingers pushing their way into her hair and Emma noticed him waver slightly when he moved his left hand closer to her. She wrapped her fingers around it without a second thought. 

Killian’s breath stuttered for a moment and his eyes locked with Emma’s. She did her best not to blink. 

“I understand, Swan,” he said softly, thumb moving slowly over her jaw. 

And Emma knew – unequivocally – that he did. That he knew what it was like to have to put somewhere – and _something_ – behind him, determined to move forward.  _ God _ . They were a mess. 

“I know you do. And, well, that means a lot to me. Everything, in fact.”  
  
“Everything?”  
  
“Absolutely.”

He was in her space before Emma had a chance to blink, hands wrapped around her waist and lifting slightly so she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. She felt one hand snake under the jersey and Emma knew there were goosebumps across her back now. 

_ I love you _ . 

The thought danced across Emma’s mind and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was not about to ruin this moment. 

Mary Margaret absolutely was not right. One hundred percent wrong. No room for error. 

Emma couldn’t say anything yet, couldn’t add another loop on this slightly ridiculous roller coaster she and Killian seemed to be riding. They were  _ good _ . Realy good. And absurdly talented at making out. 

No, Emma wouldn’t say anything – not now. 

She curled her hand into his hair, fingers dancing along the back of his neck and Killian pushed her back a step, all but forcing Emma into the wall. She could feel every inch of his body pressed against hers and did her best not to  _ groan _ in the middle of the stadium hallway. 

_ God _ . He was good at this. They were good at this. 

They needed to stop being so good at this. 

“Jeez,” said a voice a few feet away and, suddenly, Emma had to stop herself from groaning for a totally different reason. 

David. And, presumably, Mary Margaret. 

Killian sighed against her lips and Emma smiled. “You were the one who invited them,” she mumbled and he sighed again. 

“You were the one who wanted to take a walk,” he countered. 

“That didn’t mean you had to attack.”  
  
“You didn’t seem to mind.”  
  
“I mind,” David interjected, walking down the hallway with a scowl on his face. Mary Margaret looked incredibly entertained. 

“No one asked you,” Emma shot back, earning herself another flick on the arm. She flicked him back. 

“Yeah, well, you disappeared for awhile. We figured you’d been abducted.”  
  
“Out of the luxury boxes?”

“We did text,” Mary Margaret said softly and Emma shot her an exasperated glare. She shrugged. 

“Anyway,” David continued, staring pointedly at Killian’s hand on Emma’s lower back. Overprotective dad. “The game’s over. You won, Emma.”   
  
“We did?”   
  
“Saw the game-winning touchdown before you disappeared.”   
  
Emma let out a whoop of excitement and grinned at David, suddenly unconcerned with the scene he and Mary Margaret had just walked in on. She had won.  Killian laughed softly next to her and brushed a kiss across her cheek. David groaned again. 

“You guys ready to go?” Mary Margaret asked, putting a hand on David’s shoulder. Emma saw him relax and suddenly her exasperation turned into gratitude for her friend. “We might be able to beat some of the crowd.”

“I doubt it,” David said sullenly and Mary Margaret looked at him sympathetically. Emma was far too busy gloating to care. 

“Congratulations on your win, love,” Killian said softly as they fell into step behind her friends. 

“Thanks,” Emma answered, glancing at him and smiling. His hair was a disaster. “Sorry about David.”  
  
“Par for the course.”   
  
“You regularly deal with a lot of overprotective brother-type figures in your girlfriend’s lives?”

Killian raised one eyebrow and stared at her. It was the first time Emma had referred to herself as girlfriend. It was kind of a rush. 

“Not really,” he answered. “As previously discussed, I don’t have a lot of experience in the whole having an actual girlfriend department. But I know David worries about you. I expect it, in fact.”  
  
“Still, I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t counting on being interrupted.”   
  
“Ah, I thought I attacked you?”   
  
“Neither here nor there,” Emma said evasively, stepping out of the elevator and back out in front of the stadium, doing her best to keep an eye on Mary Margaret and David in the ocean of people ahead of them. 

“You know we could do something about that,” Killian said. 

“About what? I can tell David to back off.”   
  
“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant we could do something about the being interrupted thing.”   
  
“Yeah?”

He shrugged, stepping onto the train platform and looking at Emma. He was nervous. She could feel it. “If you want.”   
  
“You haven’t actually said anything.”   
  
Killian smiled at her slowly as he walked through the open train doors and leaned against the pole. “I live by myself.”   
  
“Yuh huh.”

“Swan,” he said pointedly and stared at her for moment before she understood. 

“Oh,” Emma answered, eyes widening with realization. “Right.”

She didn’t say anything else and Killian’s shoulders dropped slightly. “It was just a suggestion, love. I just thought...maybe. You know, if you wanted, then it was an option. I mean there’s no overprotective friends there or, you know, your mother down the hall. And I just thought…”

Emma cut him off, standing back on tiptoes and kissing him soundly. He stopped babbling then. 

“I know what you meant,” she said softly. “And I think it’s a good idea.”   
  
“Yeah?”

He sounded nervous and hopeful and excited all at once – an impressive feat considering he said one word – and Emma silently vowed to make sure that she did her best to keep the nervous out of the equation going forward. 

Killian Jones deserved something constant in his life and Emma had, finally, realized she was willing to be it. 

All in. 

“Absolutely,” Emma answered, doing her best to sound as confident as she felt, before leaning up again to kiss him. 

It didn’t last nearly as long as she would have liked – they were on a jam-packed train, after all – and even shorter after David coughed pointedly in their direction.    
  
“Get a room,” he shouted at them. Mary Margaret elbowed him in the ribs. 

Emma rolled her eyes at him before turning back to Killian. “That was the plan,” she muttered, feeling his smile before she brushed her lips across his.

* * *

The apartment was just as beautiful – and  _ ridiculously _ enormous – as it had been the first time Emma was there a few weeks before.

Only this time she was nervous for a whole slew of different reasons. 

“You alright, love?” Killian asked behind her, shutting the door. 

“Sure.”   
  
She glanced over her shoulder, watching him shrug out of his jacket. He tossed it in the corner and stepped out of his shoes as Emma gaped slightly at him. “What?”

“You’re just going to throw your jacket on the floor? Jeez, good thing you live by yourself. M’s would  _ kill _ me if I did something like that.”   
  
“She’s a teacher, Swan. It’s understandable that she’s prone to organization.”   
  
“And rules,” Emma added. 

“And rules,” he agreed. “Although she didn’t seem too upset about breaking them tonight.”   
  
“Are we breaking rules?”

“Depends on the way you want to look at it.”   
  
“She likes you,” Emma added, stretching out the syllables as she kept her eyes locked on Killian’s. He hadn’t moved an inch closer to her – a fact she was starting to find decidedly annoying. 

“I like her,” he responded, finally taking a step towards her and Emma could swear she saw his eyes darken slightly. “You know there are other benefits to living by myself. In addition to being able to throw my jacket on the floor.”   
  
“Yeah? What’s that?”   
  
“This.”

If Emma thought that the amount of kissing –  _ making out _ , like over-charged teenagers – was impressive before, it was nothing to the feeling of kissing Killian Jones in the doorway of his apartment. His hands were back under the jersey she was wearing in seconds, fingers trailing along the curve of her spin and Emma reacted before she could even think straight, pushing her body against him forcefully. 

Killian groaned in the back of his throat and Emma laughed against his lips. He didn’t stop kissing her. 

Emma’s hands started moving of their own volition, teasing along the bottom of his t-shirt until she hit bare skin. Her breath stuttered slightly and she was starting to feel lightheaded – although whether that was from the kissing or the fact that he had just unhooked her bra with one hand under her jersey, Emma wasn’t entirely sure. 

“And what exactly is this?” Emma asked, voice breathless as she broke away for a moment. She was still close enough to Killian that her nose was practically touching his. 

“Was that not obvious?”

“I’m looking for confirmation.”  
  
“Journalist.”  
  
“Killian,” she whined, dragging out syllables again. He smirked at her.

“This, love, is being by ourselves for a few hours. No interruptions. No newspaper. No friends. Just us.”

Emma swallowed and blinked a few times, trying to clear her head.  _ Just us _ . She liked the sound of that. 

So she kissed him – again. 

Killian jerked back slightly, surprised by Emma’s sudden movements, but it didn’t take him more than a few seconds to return to his previous intentions, hands tugging on the bottom of the jersey. Emma lifted her arms above her head – only slightly annoyed that she had to pull them out of his hair – and Killian yanked the material off, tossing it somewhere in the same vicinity as jacket. 

He took a deep breath, eyes wide for a beat and Emma smiled. “Still with me, Cap?” she muttered, trailing kisses along his jaw line until her lips landed just under his ear. Killian  _ shuddered _ . Emma just laughed. 

“We have talked about that Swan,” he all but growled in her ear. 

Emma clicked her tongue and shrugged, knowing full well he wasn’t paying  _ any _ attention to her shoulders. “Can’t seem to remember that.”

“What do you think is the best way to insure you do?”

She pulled back slightly, one side of her mouth pulled up into a slightly teasing grin and,  _ God _ , his eyes were practically black. That should have been far more intimidating than it was. It was opposite. 

He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. 

Good. 

“Did you swallow a dictionary?” she laughed again and Killian scowled at her, eyes narrowing dangerously. 

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “But I’d rather not have to repeat myself again. Just Killian to you love. No nicknames, no nothing.”

Oh. Realization hit Emma like a tidal wave and she silently chastised herself for not realizing it before. She bit her lip, hoping she wouldn’t actually start to cry. That would  _ certainly _ ruin the moment. 

He felt like  _ him _ when he was with her. Or at least he wanted to. 

And after all of it, all the months and the whiplash and the still questionable ethics of a relationship with your boss, that was the only thing Emma could hope for. 

“For what it’s worth,” Emma muttered against his neck, “I like just Killian a lot.”

His entire body sagged slightly, like he was exhaling and Emma smiled into the crook of his shoulder, kissing softly where her head was resting. One of Killian’s hands moved up, trailing along the back of her own neck and wrapping around the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him. 

His eyes were blue again, practically shining at Emma and she bit her lip again, forcing the  _ I love you _ she wanted to scream at him back into the recesses of her mind. Not now. Not yet. 

“I like just Emma a lot too,” he said softly, staring straight at her. “ A lot.”

If she was better at emotions, Emma would have said something romantic or meaningful or actually told him she loved him. 

Emma was not good at emotions. 

So she kissed him instead. 

He didn’t seem to mind. 

Killian’s hand lingered on the back of her head and he made some sort of noise that shot straight to Emma’s core as she trailed her fingers over the top of his jeans. “You’re going to kill me, Swan,” he muttered and Emma chuckled under her breath, undoing the buckle of his belt and yanking it off with as much force as she could muster. 

“You’ve got to stop wearing these,” she said. “It’s so much extra work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he answered and his voice gave Emma butterflies. He walked her backwards, farther into the apartment as she belatedly realized that they hadn’t moved too far way from the door before they had practically leapt at each other. 

“Next time? Look who’s bursting with confidence.”

“Or something like that,” he said darkly, dropping his head to kiss along his collarbone. Emma gaped at the innuendo, biting back a laugh that would have dropped her squarely in the teenage-first-date category. 

Emma’s legs ran into the couch and she almost fell over before Killian’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist, keeping her steady as she sank down into the corner. “Nuh uh,” he mumbled, moving her slightly so her legs were entirely on the couch, laying on her back with her bra practically falling off. She shrugged out of it – it wasn’t serving much of a purpose anyway – and tossed it on the floor. 

Killian’s stare raked across her body and Emma took a deep breath. “We’re not on very even footing,” she said. His head snapped up, staring straight at her as a smirk inched across his face. 

“I didn’t realize we were keeping score.” 

“We’re not. I’m just saying. You still wearing all of your clothes.”

“Something wrong with that love?” 

God if he kept doing that  _ thing  _ with his voice Emma was liable to combust in the middle of his couch. It wasn’t fair. “Not particularly,” she said, voice nothing more than a whisper. “I’m just saying.”  
  
“And I hear you Swan. But I’m just saying that I wasn’t overly concerned with undressing myself at the moment.”   
  
“No?” 

Killian didn’t say anything else, just shook his head slowly, smirk all but plastered on his face. He ran his hands down her sides, drawing goosebumps and a sharp intake of breath, before landing on the top of her jeans and popping the button. He tugged on the bottom of the pants, pulling down from Emma’s ankles until they were on  _ very _ uneven clothes-related footing. 

He stared at her again and Emma felt her entire face flush at the way he was looking at her. “You’re staring,” she mumbled, trying her best to keep her attention on one of the pillows in the far corner of the couch. She was decidedly avoiding his gaze and, even more importantly, his still-very clothed body that wasn’t doing much to hide the fact that he did want her – quite a bit. 

“I’m allowed,” Killian countered. 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “That so?”

“Of course.”

“Where are you getting these rules?”

“To be honest, Swan,” he said softly, trailing a hand up her leg. Emma bit her lip until it hurt. “I’m mostly making it up as I go along.”

“You’re doing an ok job,” Emma admitted, voice catching on the words as his fingers inched higher. He needed to stop smirking at her. 

“Just ok?”  
  
“Well, you haven’t done anything yet.”

Killian raised one eyebrow and Emma tried to take another deep breath. She couldn’t. His fingers moved again, teasing along the edge of the only clothing she had left on. Emma groaned, earning a low laugh from Killian. 

“Impatient,” he muttered.    
  
“Tease,” she countered, breath stuttering again and hips jerking slightly when his hand stopped moving. That got him to laugh again. 

“I’d never tease, Swan,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss her again as his fingers, finally, moved where Emma wanted. She gasped against his mouth and rocked her hips again, pressing her body up against his leg and drawing another groan from him. 

They must have made a very interesting picture, Emma thought suddenly. Killian was still fully clothed – except for the belt – and she was, decidedly, not, laying across the entire couch with his legs on either side of her body. 

There wasn’t a ton of room. 

Because it was a couch. 

Because they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. 

* * *

 

They did eventually make it to Killian’s bedroom and even-clothing footing. Emma appreciated the second part the most. 

“You alright, love?” he asked. It was, at least, the third time he had asked her that since  _ the couch incident _ . Emma rolled her head to the side, sighing as she stared at him on the other side of the bed. 

“If you ask me that one more time I will, one hundred percent, punch you. Right in the face.”  
  
“I’m just making sure.”  
  
For the second time that night, Emma was disappointed she hadn’t realized what he was asking from the get-go. God, she was slow on the uptake. 

He was nervous. He thought she was going to run. 

She couldn’t blame him. 

Things hadn’t gone particularly well the last time they had done this. 

Emma rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand to get a better look at him and, immediately, felt as if her heart had dropped into her stomach. He was laying on his back, right hand under his head and left hand resting lightly on his chest. His hair was sticking up in several different directions and he was staring pointedly at the ceiling – ignoring her questioning gaze. 

She smiled softly and reached to to brush her fingers over his left hand. That got his attention. 

Killian didn’t move his head, but he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, gaze flicking between Emma and her fingers on his hand. 

_ Just Killian _ . 

“I’m fine,” Emma whispered. “Really. Some would even go so far as to say I’m really, really good.”  
  
He moved his head to the side, finally, looking back at her and Emma’s chest clenched again. His eyes were too blue. It wasn’t fair.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she assured him, lifting his hand slightly and lacing her fingers through it. Killian sighed softly. “I’m here. I promise.”  
  
He moved quickly, twisting his body so he was facing her completely, pulling his hand out of hers in the process. Emma whined softly, but Killian made up for it – wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her whole body up against him.

“You’re not one to throw around empty promises, Swan,” he said softly. 

“That’s why I’m not.” Killian smiled, squeezing his hand slightly and Emma moved her leg so it was draped over his. “I meant it,” she continued, “I caught up. I just...you, it was too much before. I’m not used to someone putting me first and that’s all you’ve done for the last six months. Fight or flight, right? I didn’t just fly – I ran. That’s always been my reaction when things get tough or overwhelming.”

“Was I overwhelming?”   
  
“A bit.”

“But you’ve had people who love you in your life for years, Swan,” he countered and Emma ignored any sort of unspoken meaning to  _ that _ sentence. “It’s not as if Mary Margaret and David wouldn’t put you first. Or Ingrid and Elsa.”   
  
“I don’t want to have sex with any of them,” Emma pointed out. 

Killian made a face. “And I fall into that other category?”

“Was that not obvious?”

He laughed, shaking his head and brushing his lips over her temple. Emma rested her forehead on his shoulder and sighed, breathing him in. 

It was the first time they had really  _ talked _ about it, but Emma wanted him to know she was there with him. She didn’t want him to worry, at least not about her. 

“I just,” Emma started again and Killian’s eyes snapped back to hers. “I believe you.”   
  
“Believe me?”   
  
“About everything. About you being here and not leaving and all of it. I’ve, well you met Neal, a lot of people I...cared about have left. But I don’t think that you will. At least I don’t anymore. You waited. No one else has ever done that. No one else has ever wanted to.”   
  
Emma smiled slightly, fighting off the wave of insecurity she felt as Killian just stared at her. She tried to move – putting a bit of breathing room between them – but Killian’s hold on her waist just tightened and Emma widened her eyes in exasperation. 

“That’s all I wanted, love,” he said, so quiet Emma had to strain to hear him. 

“What?”

“You, Swan,” Killian answered, sounding as if he were telling her the most obvious fact in the world. “All I wanted was for you to trust me because all I wanted was  _ you _ . Since the very start.”

She hadn’t expected that. 

Killian was never exactly what Emma expected. 

“Yeah?” She asked, ducking her eyes and moving her leg without even thinking about it.    
  
“Swan,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers. “You can’t do that.”   
  
“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re moving.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Not if you ever wanted to actually get out of bed.” Emma wasn’t sure she did. She moved her leg again – on purpose this time – and pulled herself up slightly so she was eye-to-eye with him. 

“Maybe I don’t,” she answered. “Why? Are you kicking me out?”   
  
They  _ did _ have to work the next day. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for her to go back to her own apartment. She’d probably be able to sneak in without Mary Margaret or David noticing – which was good since Emma didn’t think she could face David at that point. 

“What would possibly give you that idea?” Killian asked sharply, distracting her from her thoughts. 

“Well you said…”   
  
“That I wanted you. From the very start. That’s what I said.”

Emma’s stomach flipped again and she shook her head slightly. “I ran you over.”   
  
“That’s true.”

“Even then?”

“I can repeat myself again, love, but you’re not going to get me to change my mind,” he laughed softly. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you. Even then.”

“Me too,” Emma mumbled, ignoring his small smile and rising eyebrows. “Even then.”

“That so?”   
  
“Yes,” she replied indignantly. “Just because I didn’t trust you, doesn’t mean I ever didn’t want you. A lot.”   
  
He needed to stop moving his hands. If he kept touching her, Emma wasn’t going to be able to think straight and they  _ needed _ to talk about this. They hadn’t, had both been content to simply  _ be _ together, but this was important. 

And, for the first time in her life, Emma wanted to talk about it. 

That probably meant something important. 

“A lot?” he repeated, voice laced with innuendo. 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Was that not obvious?” she repeated. 

Killian shrugged, making a face. “Maybe not before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. I understand why.”   
  
“I was just...overwhelmed.” 

She needed to come up with a better word. She kept using the same word. It was the only thing she could think of. 

Killian shut his eyes lightly and leaned forward and kissed Emma’s forehead. After everything that they had done over the last few hours – not even including the rather forceful make out session in the hallway of MetLife Stadium – that one kiss, that single, simple movement meant the most to Emma. 

She needed to tell him she loved him. 

She didn’t. 

“I’m not, now, for the record,” Emma added. “You know, overwhelmed.”   
  
“I know Swan. Neither am I. For the record.”

Emma smiled and – deliberately – moved her leg again, trailing her hand up Killian’s neck until she found her way back into his hair. He made some kind of noise that sounded slightly like a growl and Emma laughed before he caught her lips, kissing her soundly. 

“So, what happens now?” she asked a few – very kiss-filled – moments later. 

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what those words mean.”   
  
“Like this very second?”   
  
“Ok,” Emma sighed. “So maybe not  _ exactly _ what those words mean. Just like, you know, in general. You said it yourself, we are kind of breaking the rules.”

He blinked several times and Emma realized  _ she _ had caught him by surprise. “What do you want to do?” he asked. 

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Ok, ok,” he shook his head. “So then it seems as if we’ve only got one option.”   
  
“Yeah?”

“We keep doing what we’re doing. Quietly. Trying not to make out in the middle of the office and write stories for the foreseeable future.”

“You think you can control yourself? You’re the one who was kissing people in the middle of the office this week.”   
  
“People?” Killian asked, sounding vaguely skeptical. “Just you Swan.”

He proved his point quickly and Emma pulled herself closer to him, goosebumps forming on her arm as he trailed his hand over her hip. “Good to know,” she mumbled. “So, then, that’s it. We do this, breaking rules and everything?”

“No one actually said we  _ couldn’t _ do this,” Killian countered. 

“It was implied. I don’t think Isaac would appreciate it very much. Or the lifestyles floor. Kathryn would probably start to cry.” 

“Next time you’re in my bed without any clothes on, Swan, try not to mention Isaac or the lifestyles department of  _ The New York Record _ . It does kind of kill the mood a little bit.”   
  
“We kind of needed to talk about it.”   
  
“I’m not disagreeing with you, love. I’m just saying that I’m fairly certain I don’t care about what anyone else thinks and as long as we aren’t  _ parading _ things then I don’t see why anyone else would care what we’re doing either.”   
  
“You make a very good argument.”   
  
“Plus,” Killian added, “if Gold really is trying to buy the paper and he succeeds, we won’t have anything to worry about soon.”   
  
“Killian!” Emma yelled, smacking his arm slightly. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that anything is actually going to happen.”

“I’ve got a fairly good idea, love. And in my experience, it’s better to brace for the worst than expect the best.”   
  
“That’s awfully pessimistic.”   
  
He shrugged again. “Just prepared.”

“Yeah, but some things you can’t quite prepare for.”   
  
Killian’s eyes widened quickly and he  _ beamed _ at her. “Like you,” he said softly. “I wasn’t prepared for you.”   
  
“Well who could be when they get run over walking by an elevator?” Emma laughed, hoping her slightly sarcastic tone covered up the ridiculous depth of emotion in her voice. 

“You said it was fate.”   
  
“That’s not even remotely what I said!”   
  
“No, you said it was ‘universally-ordained.’” He was right. That was exactly what she said. Emma’s heart fluttered. 

“You remember that?”   
  
He stared at her for a moment and for one absolutely  _ insane _ second Emma thought  _ he _ actually might tell her he loved her. 

He didn’t. 

“Of course I do,” he said. “I might not have been entirely prepared for you Swan, but you’ve kind of settled into my life and, well, I remember everything.”

“You can’t just say things like that.”   
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Because then I’ll really never get out of your bed.”   
  
“So then don’t.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Don’t,” he repeated, pushing her hair back behind her ears and brushing his fingers along the back of her neck. “Don’t leave. We show up at work together every day, we’re not going to start any new gossip. I’d imagine Kathryn is already convinced we’re doing this every night anyway.”   
  
“Look who’s bringing up Kathryn now.”

“Don’t leave Swan,” he said and the sure sound of his voice did something very specific to Emma’s breathing level. 

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“You live five blocks away, love. I don’t think it’ll be too hard to get you clothes in the morning.”

She had run out of reasons to leave. There hadn’t been that many to begin with, but Emma had run through all of them anyway and now the only thing that was left was a very  _ hopeful _ – and very unclothed – Killian Jones staring expectantly at her in bed. 

“Ok,” Emma whispered. “That could work.”   
  
“It’ll all work, love. I promise.”

He kissed her again and Emma knew – down to her very core – that he meant every single letter of every single word he said and she believed him – without question. 


	36. Chapter 36

“There’s bagels by the toaster,” Mary Margaret said, not even bothering to keep her voice down and practically scaring Emma out of her skin.

She should be used to this by now.

She’d been doing it for nearly two weeks – staying with Killian all night before rushing out of the apartment an hour earlier than she normally would have woken up and walking the five blocks back to her own walk-up so she could shower and put on work-appropriate clothes.

Emma never showered there.

It was like some kind of unspoken rule. Or _her_ unspoken rule. Killian, for his part, always looked slightly annoyed when she left, groaning whenever Emma’s alarm went off. He did his best to get her to stay, to actually bring clothes with her, arguments of _You’re adding a whole other step to your routine, Swan_ were the norm now.

And she never did it.

It was driving him insane. It was driving Mary Margaret insane too.

Emma walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as she continued to try and wake up. The five-block walk in mid-November New York hadn’t done much except practically freeze her to death.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, glancing up towards an already-ready Mary Margaret, standing in the kitchen with her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. “I’m going to shower before I eat. Maybe that’ll wake me up.”   
  
“You know, if you shower at his apartment, you might wake up easier. And get an extra hour of sleep,” Mary Margaret said pointedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“You sound like Killian.”

“And what do you sound like?”

“Someone who has been trying very hard to avoid this conversation for two weeks.”  
  
“Why?   
  
“I’ve got to shower, M’s,” Emma whined. Mary Margaret made a face and she knew she wasn’t getting out of this without giving up some kind of answer.

Emma groaned, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Mary Margaret handed her. “It seems an awful lot like putting down roots,” Emma said slowly. “And I am in, really I am, all caught up and properly committed and everything, but this? The whole drawer at your boyfriend’s absurdly fancy lower Manhattan apartment is entirely uncharted territory for me.”  
  
“You tell him that?”

“No,” Emma admitted and Mary Margaret groaned at her.

“You tell him you love him yet either?”  
  
“I would tell you if that happened M’s.”   
  
“I don’t think you’d be telling him anything he doesn’t already know,” Mary Margaret continued. “And I don’t think he’d be far behind either. He looks at you like you hung the moon, Emma.”

She was right. Emma knew she was right. And she knew she should tell Killian. About both things. But she was frozen in her kitchen, hot chocolate going cold in her hands.

“I’ll tell him about the drawer,” Emma conceded. “And maybe I’ll stay this weekend. I’ve got a game on Friday and he doesn’t have any meetings. We don’t have to be there early.”

“You never have to be there early,” Mary Margaret pointed out, raising her eyebrows accusingly. “You’re the one who leaves at eight o’clock every time. Even on the weekends. Like now. When you don’t have to.”

“I have a game later.”

Emma’s technical job title was “general assignment reporter,” but she had kind of fallen into college basketball over the last week or so, prepping for the season after Walsh had been pushed out of the job.

She had to be at the Garden later that night for a preseason tournament and Emma was exhausted. It really would have been easier if she had just slept longer.

But that meant a drawer and that meant roots and while she was doing her best not to automatically run, Emma was also a little nervous.

“He’s probably nervous too, you know,” Mary Margaret said. “You’re not the only one with some very obvious emotional baggage.”  
  
“How do you know that?”

“I have eyes, Emma. And he’s worn short sleeves in front of me.”

Emma sighed and scrunched her nose slightly. She certainly wasn’t jealous of the past, but since that past had unceremoniously reappeared on her _boyfriend’s_ doorstep two and a half weeks ago, she was concerned slightly.   
  
She hadn’t told Mary Margaret that either.

Emma was a veritable vault of secrets.

“I know you do,” Emma muttered, taking a sip of lukewarm hot chocolate. “And you’re not wrong. But that’s part of the problem.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”   
  
“I don’t want to worry him. Again. I fucked up a lot before M’s and fucked him up a lot and I don’t want him to think that I’m not sure.”

Mary Margaret clicked her tongue reproachfully for Emma’s pair of swear words before shaking her head in disbelief. “He’s not going to run away. He’d wait for you for anything, all your emotional hangups. Just tell him. He’s going to understand.”  
  
“You seem awfully sure.”   
  
“I am.”   
  
“How?”   
  
“Because that’s what he told me.”

It was far too early for this. Emma just wanted to shower. And maybe go back to sleep. “When?”  
  
“When we talked before. In September. That’s what he told me when I said to back off a bit. That he’d wait.”

Jeez.

“Talk to him,” Mary Margaret continued. “Tell him what you’re thinking. He’ll listen and he’ll understand and you two can, finally, get some sleep.”

Emma laughed, smiling at her friend. “How do you put up with me?”  
  
“I’m not putting up with anything. You’re so happy, Emma. All the time. And I wasn’t lying, he looks at you like...I don’t even know. But this is big and it’s important and it’s so, so good. Even David thinks so.”

“Did you rehearse that speech?” Emma asked, hiding her initial emotional response with sarcasm. Mary Margaret saw right through it.

“Go shower,” Mary Margaret commanded, pointing down the hallway. “And then talk to your boyfriend at some point. And tell him you love him.”

Emma shook her head, but she was smiling as she walked down the hallway.

* * *

“You’re late,” he muttered, arms crossed and leaning against the wall outside the studio door.

“I’m not!” Emma objected, staring down at her phone. She wasn’t. She was _almost_ late. She wasn’t actually late. “And anyway,” she added, “Isaac isn’t even here yet. That door is still very much closed.”   
  
“The principal of the thing, love,” Killian said, uncrossing his arms and taking a few steps towards her. He reached out quickly, grabbing her hand, wrapping his fingers around her.

They were in a very empty hallway and they’d only been able to see each other in the confines of _The New York Record_ office for the last few days.

She hadn’t talked to him. Mary Margaret was vocally disappointed.

“Hey,” he muttered, tugging on her hand. Emma widened her eyes at him, eyes scanning the hallway quickly.

“Hey back.”  
  
Killian leaned forward slightly and Emma tilted her head back just as quickly, earning a very frustrated groan from him. “C’mon,” she muttered. “Isaac could be here any second.”   
  
“Don’t care,” he mumbled, pulling her back towards him before Emma could object and kissing her just behind the ear.

“We have talked about this,” Emma groaned.

“Yuh huh.”

“Killian,” she whined.

“I haven’t kissed you in days, Swan. Actual days. That’s not even an exaggeration.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I do and I don’t like that any more than you do, but we decided. Quiet. No making out at work. Certainly no making out in the middle of the hallway.”  
  
“Fine,” he agreed, sounding like he’d just been called out at the plate after arguing a strike for several minutes. “But as soon as we are out of here, Swan, I’m going to spend several minutes kissing you.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”  
  
“About kissing?”   
  
“In the kissing family.”   
  
“Go on.”

Emma nodded once, like she was trying to build up a bit of courage. Killian didn’t say anything else, a small smile on his lips and his eyes wide.

He was waiting for her.

“I was thinking about coming over later,” she said. He smiled wider.

“I’d like that.”  
  
“And I was thinking about...staying.”   
  
“You do that regularly.”

“Like in the morning,” Emma said, only stumbling a bit over the words. “Staying in the morning. With clothes. And maybe some type of shower. You do have a shower, right?”  
  
“I have a shower.”

He was openly smirking at her now, hands stuffed in his pockets as he rolled back slightly on his heels. It wasn’t fair at all. She wanted to kiss him in the middle of the hallway too and that smile wasn’t doing anything to stop her.

“Good to know,” Emma said softly. “So, those were my thoughts.”

“Seemed like good thoughts.”

“I don’t want to leave early anymore.”  
  
“I never wanted you to leave in the first place.” It felt like a much bigger statement than just one sentence and Emma pushed her heels into the floor, reciting all the reasons she couldn’t kiss him.

The top reason came around the corner a few seconds later.

“There’s our dynamic duo,” Isaac bellowed, walking towards them with a smile on his face. Killian made a face at Emma and she bit back her laugh, taking a step away from him and putting some very professional distance between them. “You two ready to talk a little college basketball?” Isaac continued, totally oblivious to the fact that his sports editor and general assignment reporter were only a few seconds away from practically attacking each other in the hallway.

“Sure,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice straight. Killian smirked.

“Absolutely,” he added.

Isaac nodded enthusiastically, yanking open the studio door and ushering them inside. Emma followed closely behind and nearly gasped when she felt a hand graze against her back. She didn’t look back, just straightened her spine and kept her eyes trained forward on the set they had built for their regularly scheduled video clips.

He knew what he was doing. Killian’s palm was flat on her back now, hidden completely from Isaac’s gaze and Emma bit her lip, determined not to lean back into his touch.

“The numbers are still good even for these middle-of-the season, or well, start of the season videos,” Isaac said. Killian’s hand dropped away from Emma’s back like he had been shocked as the editor turned to face them. “So as long as you guys are still up for this, Sydney and I are both certain it’ll continue to draw hits. And right now we’re all very excited about expanding our website coverage. People are coming to the site for your videos.”  
  
“Really?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Absolutely. Sydney showed me the search engine metrics the other day and, even the last couple of videos, the season previews and stuff? People are searching for them. They’re coming to the site through other engines. We don’t have anything else like that. No one in the city does.”

Emma made a face, glancing towards Killian who was smiling at her with so much obvious adoration that she couldn’t understand how Isaac _didn’t_ know what was going on his sports floor.

Or, anywhere but his sports floor.

“We’re apparently very knowledgeable Swan,” he said, sinking into the chair and adjusting his microphone.

“Guess so,” Emma answered, standing to the side as a tech outfitted her with her own mic, clipping the cord on the front lapel of her blazer.

“You’re building quite a reputation,” Isaac added, stepping away from the makeshift set as Emma sat down next to Killian. She glanced at him again and he rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling at her.

“Ready whenever you guys are,” said a voice behind the camera and they both settled into their chairs, introducing themselves with practiced ease.

Forty-five minutes later they had finished filming – much to the very over-excited delight of Isaac, who was practically bursting at the seams with proclamations of numbers and hits and _Google searches_.

Emma didn’t care. She just wanted to make sure this video was perfect. If Milah had been right and Killian had been right and Gold wasn’t just trying to buy _The Record_ , but was picking it up sold, then this video had to be perfect.

Even Gold couldn’t deny numbers. Or Killian. Or how good he was at what he did.

At least that’s what Emma was rationalizing.

She grabbed her phone out of her bag, leaning up against the wall of the small studio and flipped the volume back on. It beeped for 30 seconds straight.

“What is that thing doing, Swan?” Killian asked, stepping into her space, far closer than any sort of professional decorum would allow. She glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at him, clicking the voicemail icon and holding her phone up to her ear.

Anna had left three messages.

“Emma! Emma! You need to call me. You should have called after the first voicemail, but you’re probably busy or something. This is so, so important though. Like so important. Call me.”

Emma made a face at her phone, pulling it away to hit the call button underneath her now-listened to voicemail. Killian raised his eyebrows in question and Emma waved her hand at him. He scowled at her.

“Emma?” Anna’s voice yelled across the phone.   
  
“I can hear you Anna, there’s no need to yell.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry. I’ve just got news.”  
  
“So I’ve heard. What’s going on?”   
  
“Eric heard back from the DOE.”

Emma’s stomach dropped. They’d been waiting for this for weeks. Eric was as good as his word, calling the DOE within hours of Emma giving the ok, but he’d hit a metaphorical brick wall for several days, unable to get past Cruella.

Then, the week before, Zelena had, inexplicably called him back.

Anna said they talked for hours, but wasn’t sure what was going to happen after that. This was the _after_.

“And?” Emma prompted, suddenly nervous to hear the answer. She heard Killian move behind her and felt his hand on her back again. She leaned into it this time.

“And they’re going to reopen the appeal.”

“What?!”

“Seriously,” Anna said, her voice filled with excitement. “Eric talked to Zelena for hours. Yelled at her for hours.” _I did not_ , Emma heard in the background. _Forceful and yelling are two very different things_. Emma laughed slightly, turning towards Killian.  
  
“He yelled a little bit,” Anna continued. “But it worked. He got the message from Cruella today. And boy was she upset.”   
  
“I can imagine,” Emma said.

“Well she can be mad if she wants. They’re going to open the appeal again and Cruella told Eric that they’re being forced to bring in another investigator.”  
  
“How did that happen?”   
  
“City Hall stepped in.”   
  
“City Hall?!” Emma’s head was spinning. She wasn’t expecting this to get _political_.

“Apparently the deputy mayor’s son is a Beacon alum.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“There’s more,” Anna added.

“How could there possibly be more?”

“Eric thinks we’re going to win.”  
  
Emma reached out quickly, gripping Killian’s forearm so she would stay standing up. _We’re going to win_. He stared at her questioningly and Emma shook her head quickly, returning her focus to Anna.

“He’s sure?”  
  
“As sure as he possibly can be.”   
  
“Is he around?” Emma asked. “You think I can talk to him?”   
  
“Sure.”   
  
Emma heard a few mumbled words as Anna handed the phone over to her boss and Killian ran his hand up and down her back. “Hello?”  
  
“Eric?” Emma asked. “Hey, this is Emma Swan. I just wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done over the last couple of weeks. And yelling at Zelena.”

“I promise Ms. Swan, I didn’t yell. Anna exaggerated just a bit. I did, however, point out that there was precedent that the DOE was ignoring and hit on some of the things _you_ brought up in your article. Trust me, you did all the work.”   
  
“I didn’t get Zelena to listen to me.”   
  
“No, but you opened the floodgates as it were. I wouldn’t have done anything if I hadn’t seen your story, even with Ariel talking about Henry.”

“Thank you,” she said again, meaning it completely.

“This is why they pay me the absolute minimum possible,” he laughed. “I’m here to help.”  
  
“You really think we can win?” Emma asked.   
  
“Nothing’s ever guaranteed Ms. Swan, but like Anna said, I’m about as confident as I can be. You’re right. Everything you wrote was right. They can’t ignore that. Especially if City Hall starts getting involved as well.”   
  
“Henry just deserves a shot.”   
  
“He absolutely does. And this is going to help with that. We should have official word in a few weeks. I’d say middle of December by the latest.”   
  
“That quick?”

“When you’re right, it doesn’t take long to figure it out.”

Emma smiled, leaning forward so her head was resting on Killian’s shoulder. He was flat-out hugging her now. “Thank you again,” Emma said.

“No need. I’m sure Anna will let you know when we hear anything.”

He hung up the phone before Emma could thank him again and she exhaled against Killian’s suit jacket. “Alright there, love?” he asked, mostly to the top of her head.

“Better.”  
  
“That was Anna?”   
  
“And Eric,” she answered, lifting her head up to look at him. She couldn’t stop smiling. “They’re reopening the appeal.”   
  
“Seriously?”   
  
“Seriously.”

He kissed her.

The studio was abandoned – Isaac had left in the middle of filming to go deal with some sort of circulation issue – and it didn’t take long for the techs to disappear after Emma and Killian had returned their microphones.

Emma pulled on the collar of his blazer, pulling him towards her and he didn’t put up much of a fight. _God_. She had missed that. Several days of not kissing and Emma had all but lost her mind.

Mary Margaret was right. There was no reason _not_ to put down roots. Emma wasn’t convinced she already hadn’t.

“Hey,” she mumbled, pulling away slightly and Killian chased after her, moving his mouth back towards Emma’s lips, so close his nose brushed against hers. “Listen, listen to me.”  
  
“I’m listening Swan.”  
  
“And breaking rules.”  
  
“I would apologize if I was sorry, but I can’t say that I am.”  
  
“Listen,” she said sternly and he made a face, but stood at attention in front of her. “Eric said they’re bringing in a new investigator. Someone without any ties to Henry or Zelena or Walsh. It’s a brand-new slate.”   
  
“He’s going to play again.”   
  
“That’s what Eric and Anna were saying.”   
  
“You don’t sound so sure.”   
  
“No, I am,” Emma argued. “I don’t see how someone could look at that appeal and _not_ let him play. I just...I don’t want to let him down.”

“Not possible.”

“Misplaced faith,” she groaned.

“Appropriately placed faith. From both me and Henry. And everyone else who has read your stories.”

Emma shook her head and leaned forward to kiss him quickly before pulling away. “Thank you,” she said again.

“That’s not anything to thank me for.”

“Of course it is. You...you’re so good at that.”  
  
“At what?”

“The positivity.”

“No,” Killian objected. “Just you, Swan. I believe in you. Without question. And I’ve never once doubted that you were going to get Henry back on the field.”

 _I love you_.

She needed to say it. She just needed to find the right moment.

“We might win,” she said instead, falling back into work with determination.  
  
“ _You’re_ going to win.”

“Hey, this is you too. You’ve earned yourself some idol-status with this whole thing.”  
  
“Look who’s got the misplaced faith now.”

Emma sighed and shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you still want to kiss me.”  
  
“Something like that,” she said evasively, drawing her finger across his collarbone where the collar of his shirt was open.

Killian widened his eyes and Emma noticed he was biting his lip. “Swan,” he said threateningly.

“What?”  
  
“Later. I promise. But if you keep doing that this is not going to end well.”

Emma smiled at him, pulling her hand away and crossing both of them behind her back. “You think we can stop back by my apartment first? So I can get some clothes before we go home?”  


The words were out of her mouth before she even realized and she felt her mouth drop slightly as she took in Killian’s face. He was making an effort to stay neutral – an attempt Emma appreciated – but she could see the emotion in his _absurdly blue_ eyes.

“Sure,” he said, nodding slowly. “Grab a couple of things and then you won’t have to worry about it from now on.”  
  
“Ok.” Killian leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek quickly, brushing his hand over her cheek. “Hey, I have a question,” she continued.

“Shoot.”

“What are you doing on Thanksgiving?” If she thought he had been surprised before it was nothing to the stunned look on his face now. Emma enjoyed that for a moment. She could be spontaneous. Mary Margaret would probably faint.

“What are you asking?”  
  
“That’s not an answer.”  
  
“What are you suggesting?”

“That you come to my apartment on Thanksgiving,” she said, trying to keep her nerve. “M’s has _perfected_ cooking a turkey and we wake up early and watch the parade and it’s a whole thing. Everyone comes down too.”   
  
“Everyone?”   
  
“You know, Ingrid, El. David’s mom. I think M’s dad is actually coming this year. Cora wants to stay in Storybrooke since Regina just got married and is doing her own dinner, but Mr. Blanchard wants to see his daughter.”   
  
“And you want me to come?”

Emma didn’t miss the nervous edge in his voice or the way his hand gripped her blazer just a bit tighter than usual.

“Of course,” she nodded. And she did.

“Then I’ll be there.”  
  
“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Emma nodded again, like she was trying to convince herself that he was real. “Good,” she said. “I should probably let Henry know what Anna said.”  
  
“He’ll be thrilled. We’re moving locations later this week, you know. Indoor cages.”   
  
“See?” Emma asked. “No wonder he thinks you walk on air. No one else is doing that.”

“You are,” he said quickly and easily.

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a team effort.”  
  
“I like that.”

“That makes two of us.”  
  
“I’ll be done around 8:30 later if you want to leave then?”

“Sure.”

“You mind going to the store before we head home? I don’t have any food.”

Emma ignored the flip in her stomach when he said _home_ and nodded slowly. “Sure, as long as you promise not to take two and a half hours in Whole Foods.”  
  
“I can’t do that, love. I have to examine things.”

She rolled her eyes as she walked towards the studio door, yanking it open and staring expectantly at him. He kissed her once more before walking back into the hallway, straightening his collar as he went.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, pulling her hair up as she walked back into the living room.

Killian was sitting on the couch, legs propped up up on the coffee table, his phone in one hand and his other arm stretched out along the back of the cushions. He looked up over his shoulder when he heard Emma and shrugged, a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“Mary Margaret’s going to kill you if she sees your feet up like that,” Emma continued, reaching out to flatten his hair slightly – he looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, which made sense; he had. Emma’s bed, in fact.

“Mary Margaret has not only avoided killing me,” he said, the sarcasm rolling off him, “but she’s already seen my feet and given me coffee.” Killian nodded towards the mug sitting on the table next to him and smiled even wider at Emma. She just shook her head.

His phone dinged and Killian glanced back down at the screen, turning his attention away from Emma as she walked around the couch and sank down next to him.

Killian’s fingers danced across the screen quickly and it took less than a full second for the phone to ding again with another message. “Who are you talking to?” she asked, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s Thanksgiving. Tell work to shut up.”  
  
“I don’t think I can tell work to shut up, Swan. Work is not exactly a person.”   
  
“I know,” she groaned. “Even so.”   
  
“Even so, I enjoy teasing you, love,” he said, kissing the top of her head as he dropped his arm and pulled her against his side. “And it’s not work.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Not work.” The phone dinged again and Emma lowered her eyebrows, turning her head up towards him in question. “Who is it?”   
  
“Your sister is very bored.”   
  
“You’re talking to El?”   
  
“That is what I said isn’t it?”   
  
“He’s been talking to her for almost an hour,” Mary Margaret said, smiling as she leaned against the living room wall. She made a significant face at Emma, who was sitting wide-eyed glancing between Killian, Mary Margaret and the constantly-dinging phone.

“You’ve been up for an hour?” Emma asked.

Killian rolled his eyes. “Not all of us sleep until noon, Swan.”  
  
“It’s not noon,” Emma mumbled. “Did she say where they were?”  
  
“I’ve been getting near constant updates. They’re almost here, last update was at Yonkers.”   
  
“She’s just sending you location updates?”   
  
“No.”

It wasn’t a very extensive answer and Emma widened her eyes at Killian. “What aren’t you telling me?”  
  
“Nothing, love.”

Lie.  
  
“Yuh huh.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Your sister and I have been talking. That’s all. There’s no deep, dark secret happening here.”  
  
Emma sighed, shaking her head slightly and standing up. Mary Margaret still had that small smile on her face. “Where’s David, M’s?”

“On his way to Penn Station to pick up _all_ of them.”

“Are they all coming at once?” Emma sighed.

“Well there’s one train. It’s kind of the only option.”  
  
“How exactly are you going to fit an entire family in here, Swan?” Killian asked, walking into the kitchen.

“Move the coffee table, put a _real_ table there, push the couch as far back against the wall as humanly possible.”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“It’s a tried and true system,” Mary Margaret added, without looking up from the vegetables she was cutting. “We’re well practiced.”   
  
“And where exactly are all these people going to stay?” Killian asked.

“Interview?” Emma responded, crossing her arms and twisting her mouth slightly.

“Curiosity,” Killian sighed. “You have two rooms here.”  
  
“The ability to count is very impressive.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret chided, finally turning around. Emma made a face and Killian reached out to uncross her arms, lacing his fingers through hers with ease. “It’s another tried and true system,” she continued. “Although a bit more complicated than the living room table.”  
  
“How so?”

“Ok, keep up. So, contrary to popular belief, David does actually have _his own_ apartment. So I go with him. Stay on the air mattress in his living room and his mom stays in his room. Emma stays here, sleeps in my room and Elsa and Ingrid take _her_ room. My dad is a bit of a wild card because he doesn’t always come to Thanksgiving, but he’s taken care of that himself. He’s staying somewhere farther uptown.”

“That is quite a system,” Killian said.

“It’s worked fairly well for the last couple of years.”  
  
Killian’s phone dinged again and he glanced down at the message. “Elsa said they’re at Penn. David apparently brought a sign.”   
  
Mary Margaret groaned and Emma laughed, leaning her head on Killian’s shoulder. “Of course he did.”   
  
“You should probably get ready, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, chopping vegetables again.

“Thanks mom.”

“Go, love,” Killian added, nudging his shoulder up a bit. “I’m sure your family will be here soon.”  
  
“Don’t you need to get ready?” He shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at his very already-dressed body.  “When did that happen?” Emma continued.

“Again, not all of us sleep until noon, Swan.”  
  
Emma groaned and heard Mary Margaret chuckle slightly. “Fine. Fine! I’m going.”

* * *

She walked back into the living room thirty minutes later to find a small army – fresh off the train from Storybrooke – crammed into the small space, all of them holding some sort of drink while the football game played in the background.

“Emma!”

Ingrid was hugging her before she even had a chance to move, arms wrapped tightly around her and Emma sank into the feeling immediately.

“Hey,” she muttered. “How was the train?”  
  
“Long.”  
  
“Always. Did you sleep?”  
  
“A little bit. I don’t think Elsa did much though.”  
  
“She was talking to Killian,” Emma said softly, glancing over at her sister who was, still, talking to her boyfriend, Mr. Blanchard on the other side of them.

“I know.”  
  
“I thought you were asleep.”  
  
“That phone made noise every five seconds,” Ingrid laughed. “What do you think woke me up?”

Emma shook her head. “What do you think they were talking about?”  
  
“If I had to guess?” Emma nodded. “Probably you.”

She made a face and bit her lip tightly. “Why?”  
  
“Well,” Ingrid said slowly. “I know she’s given the overprotective sister speech already, so it’s not that. I think Elsa just likes talking to him. She worries about you a lot, wants to make sure you’re happy too and she’s just double checking that you are.”   
  
“I am,” Emma said, the certainty in her voice taking her by surprise just a bit.

“Yeah?”  
  
“More than I expected to be.”   
  
“I’m glad, Emma,” Ingrid said, squeezing Emma’s shoulder. “This is good, you know?”   
  
“I do.”   
  
“Better go rescue him from Mr. Blanchard then. Before he starts asking about the Red Sox and his offseason hopes.”   
  
Emma laughed under her breath and nodded, smiling at Ingrid. “Good call.”   
  
“Go. I’m going to see if Mary Margaret needs any help.”

Emma hugged her again before walking to the other side of the living room and slipping in between Killian and Elsa. His arm wrapped around her waist without even looking at her – she was too late, he was talking about the Red Sox.

“You doing ok with the baseball talk El?” Emma asked.

“It is honestly all anyone at work talks about,” Elsa groaned. “I’m pretty used to it now.”  
  
“You going to become a baseball fan now?”   
  
“Absolutely not.”   
  
“What’s wrong with baseball?” Killian asked, leaning around Emma and smirking at her sister. “It’s the American pastime for a reason.”   
  
“It is, without a doubt, the most boring sport in the world.”   
  
“Rough opinion,” Killian laughed. “What led you to that conclusion?”   
  
“They brought us to Fenway a couple months after I started and I was so bored I thought I was going to scream.”   
  
“There’s strategy to baseball,” Emma added and Killian tightened his grip on her waist, kissing the top of her head lightly.

“And it _can_ be exciting,” Mr. Blanchard chipped in. “Home runs are exciting. Hits. Even no hits can be a good thing.”

“I don’t believe it,” Elsa objected. “Come on Killian, you can’t tell me you weren’t ever bored playing.”  
  
“Not once.”

“Don’t lie.”  
  
He wasn’t. Emma could have told Elsa that even without the ridiculous sixth sense, but with it, she was nothing short of positive. He was telling the absolute truth.

“I’m not,” Killian said. “If you’re bored playing, then you have no business playing. Anything can happen at any point. That’s what makes it so much fun. Half the battle is the anticipation.”  
  
“That’s a rather romantic approach.”   
  
“Baseball is a rather romantic sport.”   
  
“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree on that one.”   
  
“America’s pastime,” he said again and Elsa shook her head.

“Hey!” she snapped, turning her attention back to Emma. “How come you didn’t ask _me_ for Anna’s number?”

Emma’s eyes widened, stunned a bit by the sudden turn of conversation. “What?”

“I think I’m going to go see if there’s anything else to drink in your kitchen,” Mr. Blanchard said quietly, glancing between Emma and Elsa. “I still want to talk about this year’s World Series with you later, Killian.”  
  
“Noted,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

Mr. Blanchard was gone two seconds later and Emma took a deep breath, staring at her sister. “I didn’t know if you wanted to help,” she said softly.

“Of course I want to help,” Elsa scoffed. “I would have helped.”  
  
“You weren’t all that happy with me before.”

“And you’ve fixed that,” Elsa said, staring pointedly at the arm wrapped tightly around Emma’s waist. “I’m glad to see you stopped being stupid.”  
  
“Elsa,” Killian muttered, tilting his head slightly. Emma shook her head.

“It’s ok,” Emma interrupted. “I was being stupid. You were right to be mad, El. I get it. I would have been mad if it was you.”

“Good,” Elsa said. “So I bet Anna was psyched to help.”

Emma shook her head at the abrupt change of tone again. “She is...incredibly enthusiastic.”

“That’s very true. But she’s always talked about wanting to help people.”

“And she did. We’re going to win.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware there was a competition going on.”  
  
“Haven’t you realized, Elsa?” Killian asked, smiling at Emma. “Everything is a bit of a competition with your sister.”

Elsa laughed – loudly – and Emma groaned, leaning against Killian’s side and ignoring the rush of emotion she felt when she called her Elsa’s _sister_. Not many people did that. Not many people – even in Storybrooke – acknowledged that.

She suddenly wished they were anywhere but the very crowded living room of her walk-up. If they were anywhere else she’d be able to kiss him and, probably, tell him she loved him. Probably. Maybe eventually.

“Oh that is absolutely true,” Elsa agreed. “Have you seen her when she watches a football game yet? She loses her mind.”  
  
“We went to a Giants game a few weeks ago,” Emma muttered.

“What?! Oh my God, Killian, was she insane in person? Did she get kicked out of the stadium for yelling obscenities at the field?”  
  
“That didn’t happen,” Killian said, smiling slightly. “Although she did yell quite a bit.”   
  
“Not a lot,” Emma objected. “And mostly at David.”   
  
“You went to a Patriots game?!” Elsa screeched and David yelled something from the kitchen that sounded like _Don’t talk about it_.

“We did,” Killian confirmed. “And Emma won.”  
  
Elsa practically cackled. “Oh God, she’s got you doing it now too. Calling the team hers. You’re not actually the one on the field, Emma.”

“It’s my team,” Emma objected.

“Of course it is love,” Killian agreed, running his hand up and down her waist.

Emma didn’t have a chance to say anything else to him – or make out with her boyfriend in the middle of her family Thanksgiving  – before Mary Margaret rounded the corner to announce that _dinner was ready_.

David and Mr. Blanchard followed shortly behind her, each of them holding plates of food in both of their hands.

“I’m going to go see if Mary Margaret needs more wait staff to carry out food,” Killian muttered in her ear, kissing her cheek lightly before dropping his arm away from her and moving towards the kitchen.

Elsa stared at Emma with some kind of knowing look on her face. “Don’t,” Emma warned. “Don’t you dare say anything.”  
  
“I would never. I’d never tell you how right I was. Or how happy you are. How happy he is. I don’t need to do that.”   
  
“Obviously not.”   
  
“I’m glad you figured it out,” Elsa added, smiling genuinely. “This is good. Really good. And God is he better than Neal.”   
  
“Much better,” Emma laughed, returning the smile.

 _Hope_.

* * *

“I will never understand how you manage to do this every year, M’s,” Emma said later that night, standing next to the sink with a towel draped over her arm.

“It’s a system.”  
  
“What time did you actually get up this morning?”  
  
“Early.”

“That’s not an answer.”  
  
“Like 7...ish.”  
  
“Ish?”   
  
“Maybe earlier,” Mary Margaret admitted, handing Emma another now-clean dish. “It was a lot of food.”

“You should have woken me up. I would have helped.”  
  
“I had help.”   
  
“What?” Emma asked, opening up a cabinet and putting a stack of dishes inside.

“What do you think Killian was doing while you were still asleep? He peeled potatoes and helped make stuffing, even put the turkey in the oven.”

Emma shook her head slowly, glancing over in the living room to see Killian and Elsa talking again, laughing about something with Ingrid. Her stomach flipped. This was _real_. This was happening.

She had a drawer in his apartment and he was a _speed dial_ on her phone. He stayed with her the night before and he kept texting her sister.

This was real.

God, she needed to tell him.

“I told you he was a good cook,” Emma said softly.

“And I told you to talk to him about every single feeling that is painted on your face right now. I know you haven’t.”

“I’m waiting for the right time.”  
  
“You’re stalling.”

Emma groaned, grabbing the handful of silverware Mary Margaret offered her. “Waiting.”

Mary Margaret shook her head and sighed, but didn’t push the issue anymore – a fact Emma was grateful for. Emma focused on meticulously drying off every single piece of silverware in front of her, only looking over her shoulder when she heard Killian’s phone go off.

She assumed it was an e-mail or a text or _anything_ except the news they both had been dreading for weeks. But then she heard his sharp intake of breath – even from her spot next to the sink – and jumped a bit when the door slammed as he walked out of the apartment, leaving an entire family gaping slightly at his departure.

“What is that about?” Mary Margaret asked, holding a glass out to Emma. She didn’t take it.

“I’ll go find out,” Emma answered, ignoring the glass and walking out of the apartment in four, quick steps. She didn’t have to find out.

She knew.

She wasn’t sure how she did. But she knew.

He was sitting halfway down the stairs, almost as if he couldn’t go any farther before he had collapsed on the floor. Emma sighed, sinking down next to him, sitting as close as she could without actually touching him.

“What happened?” she whispered.

Killian didn’t look up, didn’t say a single word, just handed her his phone, the message still on the screen. Emma tapped the screen, lighting up the phone and read _It happened. He bought it._

There was no number, no name, just _unknown_ across the top of the screen and two sentences and Emma’s heart felt like it had snapped in half.

“Who is this from?” she asked.

“I’d assume Milah.”  
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“You don’t have to be optimistic, Swan. It is.”   
  
“He really bought the paper?”   
  
“So it would seem.”

Emma took a deep breath and reached up to run her fingers over the back of his neck. Killian leaned back slightly and closed his eyes.

“What now?” Emma pressed, doing her best to keep her voice steady.  
  
“I have no idea.”   
  
“It doesn’t have to be bad.”   
  
“It already is. They’re probably not going to announce it for awhile. I’m sure there’s plenty of legal issues to work through. If I had to guess I’d say I’ve got about a month before Gold tells me I’m done.”   
  
“The end of the year? That’s awfully poetic.”   
  
“Seems he’s picked up a flair for the dramatic over the last seven years.”

“I’m not going to believe that,” Emma objected. “I can’t. I just...I can’t imagine you not there.”  
  
“Going to miss having me as a boss, Swan?”

He was doing his best to keep his voice light, to joke about the situation, but Emma heard the disappointment. She blinked several times – trying to make sure that she didn’t start to cry in the middle of the stairwell – and leaned closer to him.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“What did you mean then?”  
  
“This is your whole life, Killian. And you’ve worked so hard on it, to find something like that. I can’t imagine you not writing.”  
  
He turned to look at her, finally meeting her eyes and smiled sadly, reaching one hand up to bury his fingers in her hair. “It’s not my whole life, Swan.”   
  
“No?”   
  
Killian shook his head, but didn’t say anything else. He pushed Emma’s hair behind her ear and raised his eyebrows, almost as if he was trying to tell her _something_ without actually telling her anything.

“It’s not,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

Emma bit her lip and tilted her head up before he kissed her, pulling her flush against him and dropping his hands down to her hips, fingers skimming underneath the bottom of her shirt. She sighed into him and, for a moment, forgot the text message and the paper and the _entire_ family in her apartment a few feet away.

The only thing that mattered was him.

“I love you,” Emma mumbled, not even realizing she had actually said anything until Killian pulled away from her quickly, eyes wide and back stick-straight. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.

“What?”  
  
She had been _thinking_ it. She hadn’t planned on saying it. Not now. Not like this. Emma’s mouth dropped open in surprise and she tried to breathe, but it felt as if both of her lungs had collapsed.

“I…” she stuttered, shaking her head with her mouth still hanging open. “I don’t…”  
  
“You don’t what?”   
  
He barely said the words at all, his voice a bit breathless and faster than Emma had ever heard it. She still couldn’t breathe.

So she kissed him instead, leaning up until, somehow, she ended up on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He moved away from her mouth for a moment and Emma did her best not to groan. But then he moved to her neck and her collarbone, hands _everywhere_ and Emma groaned for an entirely different reason.

“Swan,” Killian mumbled, lips moving against her skin. “We’ve got to stop, love.”  
  
“Why?”

“Because we’re in the middle of a stairwell and your entire family is in your apartment.” She rolled her hips slightly and Killian shook his head, glaring at her pointedly, grabbing her hip to try and hold her still. “Emma, if you don’t stop doing that I am not going to be able to control myself in the middle of this stairwell.”  
  
She only stopped because he called her Emma.

“Fine,” she grumbled, glancing down, still unable to move with his hands holding onto her hips.

“Hey,” he answered, tucking his fingers under her chin. “Look at me for a second.”

“What?”  
  
“I love you too.”

He smiled slightly, ducking his head so he was even with her and trailing his fingers through her hair again. Emma’s heart stuttered as he stared at her and she bit her lip tightly.

“More than anything,” he added softly and Emma’s shoulders dropped as she felt the breath she _certainly_ hadn’t been holding rush out of her.

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but Killian shook his head. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything, Emma.”  
  
He called her Emma again. She bit down tighter on her lip and nodded.

“I just…” He was the one stuttering now. That almost made her feel as if they were on more even emotional ground. “I wasn’t expecting that.”  
  
“Me to love you or me to say it?”   
  
“Either or,” he shrugged.

“I really do.”  
  
“You really do what?”

Emma made a face and Killian just smiled at her, that same sort of encouraging look that he always threw her when he was trying to make sure she didn’t waver on anything. She took a deep breath and sat up just a bit straighter.

“I love you,” Emma repeated and this time was different.

This time she meant to say it. It wasn’t a mistake or a should-have-been thought. She didn’t stutter, didn’t even hesitate as she said the words. She meant it – with every fiber of her being. And his answering smile was _perfect_.

Killian sucked in breath quickly, his shoulders moving up and down as he shook his head. “Jeez,” he half muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself.

“Anything to add?” Emma added, nudging her hand into her shoulder.

“I thought I had made myself particularly clear with the ‘more than anything’ part of the equation.”

“Doesn’t make it any less nice to hear.”

“I love you, Emma,” he said again and _God_ if he didn’t call her Swan again soon, she was going to _make sure_ he lost control in the middle of the stairwell.

“And we’re going to be ok,” she added. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her.

“How so, love?”  
  
“Even if that’s real,” Emma nodded towards Killian’s phone on the stair. He scoffed slightly. “Ok, when they announce that is real. No matter what happens. It’s going to be ok.”   
  
“So positive, Swan.”   
  
“Confident. There’s a difference.”

He smiled and shook his head again before kissing her lips lightly. Emma heard a door open down the hallway, intent on ignoring it. She couldn’t when she heard the voice yelling towards her.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret shouted, footsteps coming closer. Killian sighed and moved Emma off his legs as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, M’s?” she called back, looking over her shoulder to find her friend staring at her with a very specific look on her face.

“You guys ok?”  
  
“Sure. Yeah, we’re coming back now.”   
  
Mary Margaret nodded, glancing between Emma and Killian with a smile on her face before turning away. Killian stood up, reaching out his hand to help Emma up.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “You good?”  
  
“Better, love.”   
  
“We should go inside before they send out an entire search party after us.”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
“Hey,” Emma said, stepping into his space and rubbing her hands up and down his arms. “It’s going to be ok. I promise.”   
  
“Of course,” Killian repeated, but Emma knew he didn’t believe her. “C’mon Swan. I know Mary Margaret made at least three different pies. It only seems fair to test every single one of them.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and directed Emma back down the hallway, a million thoughts racing through her head, namely how she was actually going to tell Mary Margaret that she told him she loved him.


	37. Chapter 37

They tried not to worry about it.

No one had said anything, so they did their best to ignore that text message and go on with their lives.

Killian wrote columns and Emma covered college basketball and they got very excited, all caps e-mails from Isaac about how well the last video went.

They didn’t talk about it.

They talked about everything except Gold buying _The New York Record_.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian said for what felt like the eight hundredth time. “Just keep writing. You don’t need to worry.”  
  
Emma stared up at him, skepticism written on her as clearly as if she had typed it there. “Yuh huh.”

“Ok, you can worry about me,” he admitted.

“Those are the rules.”  
  
“Rules?”

“The relationship rules. Like M’s and David. She’s constantly worried about him. That’s just how it works.”  
  
“We’re trying to be like Mary Margaret and David now?”  
  
“Well,” Emma admitted, rolling her eyes. “Maybe not _just_ like them. That would be a bit much to deal with. But, you know, maybe like in general?”  
  
“The love part you mean?”  
  
Emma gaped at him, glancing around the very crowded office to make sure no one had heard him. Kathryn had been lurking around over the last few weeks, trying to pick up on any gossip after Walsh had been fired and couldn’t report it to her himself. Killian just smirked at her, raising his own eyebrows again.

“Killian,” she hissed, pulling her lips back behind her teeth and making a face.

“What, Swan?”  
  
“You can’t just say that!”  
  
“Why not? You said there were rules. I was simply following your train of thought.”  
  
“Impossible,” Emma muttered.

“And you love me for it.” He flashed his eyes up at her and Emma sighed dramatically, rolling her head onto her shoulder.

“Maybe.”  
  
“You wound me, Swan.”

“That ego knows no bounds, does it?”  
  
“Confidence,” Killian objected, sitting on the edge of her desk and tossing his phone next to him. “There’s a difference.”

“Yuh huh.”

Emma leaned forward and he covered her hand with his, ignoring her noise of disapproval. “You know that’s your doing, right?”  
  
“What is?”

“The confidence.”

The air rushed out of her lungs in one foul swoop and Emma shook her head again. This had become the norm over the last few weeks, this single sentences with _absurdly_ deep and emotional meanings that consistently caught Emma by surprise.

It was almost as if all the metaphorical walls were down now, barreled over by unplanned declarations of love and, now, Killian Jones couldn’t stop talking.

Emma – almost – wasn’t totally overwhelmed by it.

In fact, she found she kind of liked it. And, more often than not, thought the exact same things.

She was just about to answer when Will walked up to her desk and Killian’s hand flew back to his much more workplace-appropriate side.

“Mail call,” Will said, dropping an envelope on Emma’s desk and tossing an identical one to Killian.

Emma stared at it. There wasn’t a stamp on it. This had come from inside _The Record_. “What is this?” she asked, staring at Will.

“Beats me. We all got ‘em.”  
  
“And not one person opened them yet?” Killian asked, ripping the end of the envelope open and pulling out the letter inside. Emma stared at him. “What?” he shrugged.

“Who opens letters like that?” Killian rolled his eyes and unfolded the letter, eyes scanning along the lines.

“They literally just came Cap,” Will muttered. “I think they’re sending Leroy to every floor with them. He didn’t look very pleased.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Leroy would enjoy that very much,” Killian muttered, still not taking his eyes off the letter.

“Killian?” Emma asked, opening her own letter like a normal person and pulling out the sheet of paper. Oh. It took approximately 2.5 seconds for Emma to understand the look on Killian’s face and for her own knot of anxiety to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Am I missing something here?” Will asked, glancing between the two of them. “It’s just the end of the year party.”  
  
“It’s bigger than that,” Killian muttered, handing the paper to Will. “Look.”  
  
Will let out a low whistle and Emma chewed on the side of her tongue. Killian looked like he was frozen.

It _was_ an invitation to _The Record_ ’s annual end-of-the-year party, but it was also more than that. It was at Gotham Hall, for one, an enormous over-the-top building in the middle of midtown that Emma had walked by plenty of times, but never actually been in. There was no way _The Record_ could afford something like that – unless the paper had just come into a significant amount of money.

Then, of course, there was the inscription on the invitation.

_All staff are invited to join us for dinner, drinks and dancing as The New York Record celebrates another year as the leader of city news. With the holiday season in full swing, the management of the paper looks towards the future and the brand-new steps the paper will take as we transition into the new world of journalism_.

“Shit,” Emma said under her breath, but Killian heard her, laughing darkly in response. “Killian,” she said again, standing up and putting her hand on his shoulder.

Will made some sort of noise that sounded slightly surprised. Emma ignored him completely.

“Swan,” he said, not looking at her.

“It’s going to be fine.”  
  
It wasn’t. It was going to be the opposite of fine. They were going to announce the sale at the party. Emma was certain of it and, judging by Killian’s reaction, he was certain of it as well.

It wasn’t going to be fine.

He scoffed at her and Will’s eyes danced between the two of them, trying to figure out what was going on. “What do you two know that I don’t?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Emma said quickly at the same time Killian said,  “They sold the paper.”  
  
“Killian!”

He just shrugged. He had given up.

Emma did her best not to sigh and sink back into her chair. Will just looked overwhelmed. “How do you know that?”  
  
“He doesn’t,” Emma said sharply. “Not for sure.”  
  
“I’m fairly positive, love.”

Will blinked several times at the endearment – Emma was certain that was the first time he had called her _that_ at work – and looked back down at the letter in his hand. “You think that’s where they got the money for Gotham Hall?”  
  
“Certainly seems like it,” Killian answered.   
  
“And what’s this about ‘the new world of journalism?’”

“Your guess is as good as mine on that one.”

“You think we’re all going to get fired?” Will asked. The joke was clear, the teasing lilt in his voice obvious, but Emma squeezed her eyes closed as soon as he stopped talking, unable to even look in Killian’s direction.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not all of us.”  
  
“You’re holding out on me, Cap,” Will accused and Emma shook her head, staring up at the ceiling.

Killian stood up, moving in front of Emma’s desk. She chanced a look at him and felt her heart drop into the floor – he was rubbing his hand.

“I’m not Will,” Killian said softly. “At least not a lot. Swan’s right. I don’t know anything for certain. I have several hunches. That’s it.”  
  
“Those aren’t usually wrong.”  
  
“No, they’re not.”

“I won’t push. I can be patient.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
“Well,” Will said slowly. “At least when it comes to this. I _know_ you’re not saying all you know – neither of you are – but I can wait.” He looked back down at the letter in disbelief. “Black tie,” he muttered. “I hope they got a shit ton of money for this paper if I’m going to have to rent a tux for this.”  
  
Emma let out some sort of near-hysterical sound that almost resembled laughter and Will stared at her, a bemused smile on his face. She shook her hand, trying to get him away from her desk so she could talk to her boyfriend – and editor and boss.

Will got the message.

“Alright, well, I’ve delivered the letters, which is what I promised Leroy I would do. So if you guys are good, I’ve got boxes to do,” he said, nodding towards Killian and Emma before walking back to the other side of the office.

Emma waited a moment before talking. Killian was still standing in front of her desk.

“You ok?” she asked softly. He shook his head.

She walked around the desk, pulling his left hand towards her – so he could stop rubbing it – and wrapped her fingers around his wrist tightly. “You don’t even know what the announcement is about. Not really.”  
  
“You don’t hold a party in a place like this unless it’s a game-changing announcement, Swan,” he said, moving his hand slightly so his fingers were twined up in hers. “I know we had this unspoken agreement not to talk about it, but this is happening. Whether we acknowledge it or not.”  
  
“You’re not going to get fired. It’s not like he can just banish you at an end-of-the-year party.”  
  
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

His phone vibrated on the fake wood of Emma’s desk – the sixth time it had made some sort of noise since he arrived in front of her 30 minutes ago. “What is going on with that thing?” she asked.

“E-mails.”

“Jeez.”  
  
“It’s nothing, Swan.”

Lie.

Emma narrowed her eyes and looked directly at him. He didn’t look like he was lying. He looked like his mind was going a million different directions, but didn’t _look_ like he was lying. Didn’t change the fact that he was.

“What aren’t you telling me?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Lie.

“Killian,” Emma sighed.

He held up his hands in mock-surrender and took a step away from here. “Honestly, Swan. It’s not anything you need to be worried about.”  
  
“Ah now I don’t have to be worried about it. So it _is_ something.”

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with some sort of witty retort, but got cut off when Emma’s desk phone started to ring. “We’re not done,” she said, reaching around him and he nodded, settling his face into an attempt at serious.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Emma? This is Rebecca – Isaac’s secretary up here on 24. He’s wondering if you’re free to come up and talk.”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“Yes. And bring Killian with you.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

“He’s waiting for you in his office.”  
  
“Ok.”

Emma hung up the phone and glanced at Killian who was leaning against her desk again. “What’s the matter love?” he asked.

“One, you should probably hold back on that while we’re here. Will’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when you called me that. Under the radar, remember? And, two, that was Isaac’s secretary. He wants to talk to me. With you. Now.”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“That’s what he said.”

He stuck his lower lip out slightly and made a face. “Let’s go.”  
  
“That’s it? No further questions?”  
  
“Not until we talk to Isaac. Come on _love_ ,” he added the last word with an extra bit of force and Emma felt like her eyes had rolled into the back of her head.

“Impossible,” she repeated, grabbing a pen and sticking it into her hair as she walked towards the door, Killian a few steps behind her.

* * *

“You can just go in,” Rebecca the 24th-floor secretary said as soon as they walked through the doors.

“Ok,” Emma mumbled, nerves hitting her suddenly and forcefully. She had a sinking suspicion this was about _them_ and she didn’t think it was going to end well.

They’d done their best to fly under the metaphorical radar, but Kathryn was a gossip-hawk who practically lived on the sports floor now and they had made out in the studio after filming that last video. There were probably security cameras in there that they hadn’t taken into consideration.

Except when they walked into Isaac’s office, he didn’t look upset. If anything he looked _thrilled_ , sitting comfortably behind his enormous desk with his phone to his ear. “Yeah, yeah, they’re here,” he said, motioning towards Emma and Killian to sit down. “Yeah, come over now. We can tell them.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, putting his phone back on the desk and smiling at them. Emma glanced at Killian. He didn’t move.

“What’s going on Isaac?” he asked, leaning against the side of the chair – closer to Emma. She tried not to think about that.

“Nope, we’re waiting for Sydney. Then we can both get you up to speed.”

They sat in awkward silence for 30 seconds before Sydney arrived in the doorway. “You tell them yet?” he asked Isaac, who simply shook his head.

Sydney stepped farther into the office – which had, officially, run out of chairs – and stood behind Isaac’s desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Everything ok?” Emma asked, trying to sound confident.

“Absolutely,” Isaac answered, still smiling.  
  
“Then...what’s going on.”  
  
“Victor is leaving the paper.” He didn’t say anything else and Emma lowered her eyebrows, wondering how exactly that affected her.

“Ok,” she said slowly.

“And that means we’ve got a beat opening up in a few weeks.”  
  
“Ok…”  
  
“Swan,” Killian muttered, staring at her pointedly, the ends of his mouth turning up. Emma almost fell out of her chair.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Really?”

Isaac nodded, looking up towards Sydney to continue. “The three of us,” Sydney said, nodding towards Killian and Isaac. “Have talked about this for the last couple of days, since Victor told us, and we’ve decided there’s no one more qualified to take over. You did an incredible job during the playoff run and even though we’re already a few months into the season, we’re certain you’ll be able to fall right into the swing of things, so to speak.”  
  
“Wow,” Emma said softly, mostly to herself, and she heard Killian laugh.

“So, Emma,” Isaac said, taking back control of the conversation. “Once Victor leaves, we’re ready to name you the Knicks beat writer. But we wanted to make sure that was something you were actually interested in.”  
  
“Of course I am! Absolutely!”  
  
“Good. Now, there are a few expectations here. Home games, travel, a column. Maybe even your own video series. But those are all things we can talk about after we get through the holidays. Victor’s final day is December 31. So, happy early New Year’s I suppose.”

Emma exhaled loudly, her shoulders falling quickly as she glanced around the room. Killian was smiling so hard at her she couldn’t figure out how _no one_ had realized they were together yet.

“Thank you,” Emma said sincerely.

“Don’t thank me,” Isaac said. “Or Sydney for that matter. Killian was the one who suggested it. We just agreed after he pointed out the obvious. And you were the obvious choice, Emma.”

Emma gripped the side of the chair tightly, trying to make sure she didn’t do something stupid like kiss her boyfriend in front of the editors of a major metropolitan newspaper that may be planning on firing him sooner rather than later.

“We’ll probably make the official announcement at the party next week if that’s alright with you,” Sydney continued. Emma nodded wordlessly.

She couldn’t come up with anything to say.

“Perfect,” he said. “And there’ll be a whole new round of paperwork, a brand-new contract, a raise. But, like Isaac said, that’s all for next month.”  
  
“That sounds great,” Emma said quickly, standing up and reaching her hand out. Isaac and Sydney shook it easily, but Killian stayed rooted to his chair, still smiling at Emma and leaning towards where she had been.

“Just keep this under your hat, so to speak, for now, ok?” Isaac said. “No need to let other papers know what we’ve got planned.”  
  
“Sure thing,” Emma agreed. “And thank you, again.”

“It was the obvious choice,” Isaac repeated and Emma got the distinct impression that’s what he had been told – like that’s what Killian had said.

Emma nodded again and Killian stood up. “Come on Swan,” he said softly. “That’s all there was.”

“Congratulations, Emma,” Sydney said as she walked towards the door.

Killian ushered her out of the office and into the elevator without saying anything, just nodding towards the secretary on their way out. Emma bit her lip, a thousand and one thoughts racing through her mind. He reached to hit the sports floor button, but Emma pushed his hand out of the way hitting the ground floor instead.

He turned towards her, eyes wide and an unspoken question written all over his face.

“We’re going to talk,” she said. Killian just nodded, following her out of the lobby and onto 8th Avenue. Emma didn’t have a destination. She just knew she couldn’t be on _The Record_ sports floor when she did this.

She pulled him around the block, standing on the side of the building, but away from the prying eyes of the front door and Leroy the security guard. Killian stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting on her.

Always.

“You knew,” Emma said simply, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“I know a lot, Swan. You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“Nuh uh, don’t do that. You knew about Victor and you knew about me. Why didn’t you say anything? Is that what those e-mails were about?”  
  
“No,” he said easily, but failed to elaborate anymore. Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you known Victor was leaving?”  
  
“He mentioned it after Thanksgiving.”

“That was two weeks ago!”  
  
“Ok.”

“Killian,” Emma whined. “You knew that long and you didn’t say anything?”  
  
“Because it wasn’t final yet. I honestly didn’t know they had officially decided anything until just now.”  
  
“But you told them to hire me.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Why?”

Killian sighed dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really? You’re really going to ask me that?”

“I believe I just did.”

“Swan, this is what you’ve wanted since the start. A beat, a column. All of it. And, more to the point, this is what you deserve. I just pointed them in the right direction. There was no sense in doing interviews if it was just going to be you at the end anyway.”  
  
“What if there’s someone else out there more qualified?”  
  
“There isn’t.”  
  
He didn’t say anything else, just stared at Emma as if he was daring her to argue with him. She didn’t. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could debate anything at that point. She was far too focused on his lips and the way he seemed to lean towards her without even really thinking about it.

“You sound very sure,” Emma whispered.

“I am.”

Emma took a deep breath and took a step closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands seemed to instinctively fall to her waist.

“I love you,” she said quietly and he smiled at her again before ducking his head and kissing her.

“I love you too,” he answered when he pulled away. “But, for the record, this wasn’t because of that. You deserve this Swan. And you’re going to be so good at it. Like absurdly good.”  
  
“You’re awfully confident.”   
  
“That’s because of you. I’m confident in you.”   
  
Emma shook her head – she wasn’t sure she would ever get over the way he looked at her when he told her he _believed_ in her. “I know the higher-ups said not to tell anyone and I won’t tell Ingrid or anybody yet, but do you think I could tell M’s? She won’t want to yell the news down the street of a small Maine town.”

Killian barked out a laugh, fingers, somehow, making their way under her shirt. “I’m fairly certain Mary Margaret won’t yell the news down any streets, Storybrooke or otherwise, but I’m afraid I might have stolen some of your thunder, love.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”

His eyes were practically _sparkling_ when he looked at her. “Mary Margaret might already have an idea that this was happening.”  
  
“You told her!? You told M’s and not me? What even, Killian?”  
  
“I didn’t tell _her_ ,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “I told David. Who I’m sure told Mary Margaret. And I didn’t say you got the job. Like I said, I didn’t know you got the job until 15 minutes ago.”  
  
“So what did you tell him?”  
  
“That there was the possibility that something about your job title may change and they should be ready for some sort of celebration at a moment’s notice.”  
  
“And that moment is now?”  
  
“It is.”

“And what is the celebration?”  
  
“I’m supposed to bring you to Bleeker later tonight.”  
  
Emma shook her head in disbelief. “And they know this how?”  
  
“I’m very good at texting in my pocket.”

“You are ridiculous!”

“This is the point where I remind you again how much you love me,” Killian said softly, kissing just behind her ear. “And how much you appreciate me and my interference in every single aspect of your life.”  
  
“Is that what this is? You interfering?”

Emma’s voice sounded breathless as he turned them on the spot and walked Emma back towards the building, out of the middle of the sidewalk and the prying eyes of the tourists on the block.

“You tell me, Swan.”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“No? Then what do you think is going on?”  
  
“I think that you’ve landed squarely in the middle of my life and I like the way you fit there. No matter what you’re interfering with.”

“I don’t know where you came from, Swan,” he said softly, almost as if he was nervous to say it out loud.

“I’m here now.”  
  
“And I’m glad.” He pushed her closer to the building, settling into a shaded corner and pushing his hips against hers. “Have I mentioned that?”  
  
“Not in so many words,” Emma mumbled. “Although you’re doing a pretty good of showing it.” He kissed her again and pushed his hand under her shirt, resting his palm flat on the small of her back.

“Killian,” she said. “We are on a sidewalk.”  
  
“Not in the office though. Weren’t those the rules? No displays of affection or nicknames in the office. I’m following the rules, Swan.”

“We’re close to the office.”

“You’re arguing a lost cause.”  
  
“I realize that.” As if to prove her point, Emma wrapped her fingers through his belt loops and yanked him closer to her. He _growled_ at her and Emma felt like she was about to melt into that very public sidewalk.   
  
“Swan,” he warned.

“Yeah.”  
  
“You’re breaking your own rules.”  
  
“And you love me for it.”

He pulled back and stared at her and Emma was certain they were having some sort of major moment right there on 8th Avenue. “I do,” Killian said seriously. Emma wondered – not for the first time – how he managed to put so much emotion into two words and three letters. She was just glad that he did.

It made her a bit more confident.

“I love you,” he said again and Emma felt like there was a small sun glowing in her stomach. “You good with this?”

“With you loving me? I thought we’d made that abundantly clear.”  
  
“Bleeker Street, love. Going to Bleeker later.”  
  
“Of course. M’s would be incredibly disappointed if I didn’t show up. I’m sure she’s called in a reservation already.”  
  
“I’m not worried about Mary Margaret. I’m worried about you.”  
  
“I am fine. I promise.”  
  
He stared at her skeptically and Emma sighed. “Really,” she continued. “Long as you promise to show up too, then I’ll be good.”  
  
“I promise to show up.”  
  
“Then I’ll be good,” Emma said, nodding her head once as if to prove her point. “You think they’ve noticed that we’ve been gone this long?”  
  
“Leroy wasn’t at his desk when we left, so I’m not sure he had a chance to time our disappearance.”  
  
“Small miracles.”

“We’ll be better at flying under the radar from now on, Swan.”  
  
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”  
  
“Ye of little faith,” Killian scoffed, tugging on her sleeve and directing her back around the block. His phone buzzed from the inside of his pocket and he pulled it out glancing at the screen. “Mary Margaret said to be there at 8:30.”

“I told you she already had a reservation.”  
  
“I’m impressed with your knowledge, Swan,” he said, holding the door open for her and following her into the lobby.

“Stick around for awhile and you’ll start to pick up on M’s planning tendencies.”

“I look forward to it,” Killian answered and Emma felt butterflies in her stomach – until she glanced over her shoulder and looked at him. He tossed his ID badge towards Leroy and was _trying_ to smile at her, but it didn’t quite reach all the way up to his eyes.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Sure. Come on Swan. Let’s go make sure no one timed our disappearance.”

Emma nodded once, stepping into the elevator and tried to focus on the positives – new job, Bleeker Street, Killian’s absurd ability to kiss on sidewalks – and not on the fact that she was absolutely certain he was keeping something from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually short - but I wanted the next couple of chapters to make sense together and that's left us with this. That being said, THANK YOU, again, to everyone for every click, comment and kudos. You're all delightful and all encouraged to come flail with me on Tumblr: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/


	38. Chapter 38

“You’re going to knock him dead.”  
  
“That’s kind of the opposite effect I was hoping for,” Emma answered, glancing over her shoulder at Mary Margaret and smiling. “And we’re still very much under the radar here, M’s. No one is actually supposed to be knocking anyone dead with emotions, romantic or otherwise. This is a work thing.”  
  
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to knock him dead.”  
  
“Oh my God, stop saying that,” Emma groaned.  
  
“Saying what?” David asked, leaning around the doorframe, eyes landing – and widening – on Emma and her very over-the-top dress. _Black tie_.

“Thoughts?” Emma prompted, widening her arms and pulling her low ponytail over her shoulder. Mary Margaret had spent the better part of the last hour curling it. They both said a silent prayer that it wouldn’t snow and mess everything up.

“You look fantastic, Emma. You’re going to knock him dead.”  
  
“I told you!” Mary Margaret yelled, clapping her hands together and racing over to David to kiss him soundly. He just looked pleasantly surprised.

Emma rolled her eyes and tried to keep moving – if she sat down she was going to wrinkle her dress. The downstairs buzzer sounded from the living room and three pairs of eyes moved towards the noise.

“Showtime,” Emma said softly and Mary Margaret sighed.

“It’s not a show, Emma,” she chastised as she walked into the living room. “It’s a date.”  
  
“It’s not a date, M’s. It’s a work function.”  
  
“With ball gowns and tuxedos,” David added. “Sounds like a date.”  
  
“Neither one of you are helping,” Emma said, wrapping her hand around the door handle and swinging it open.

Mary Margaret and David had both been wrong. She wasn’t going to knock him dead. He was going to knock her dead.

 _God_ he was good looking.

He should be illegal, or something, Emma thought quickly, eyes scanning up and down his entire body and the tux that fit him _incredibly_ well. He had one hand behind his back and a small, slightly nervous smile on his face.

They stared at each other for a moment and Emma heard David mutter _Are they actually going to say anything_ before a noise that vaguely sounded like Mary Margaret smacking his shoulder.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Emma,” he whispered and, somehow, her eyes got even wider. “God, love, you look incredible.”  
  
“So do you. Where did you rent a tux like that?”

It was perfect. Emma was certain he must have gotten it custom-tailored, the black pants and jacket practically molding to his body.

“I didn’t,” he said easily, stepping into the apartment and nodding towards David. “This is mine.”

Of course.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You own a tuxedo? What could you possibly need it for?”  
  
“You never know, Swan. Things come up. Stuff happens.”  
  
“That requires you to wear a tuxedo?”  
  
“Are you upset that I own a tuxedo?”  
  
“No,” Emma shook her head. “I am upset with how good you look in this tuxedo.”  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”  
  
Mary Margaret sighed again in the background and Emma tossed a glare her direction. She responded with a very pointed eye roll. “You look good, unfairly good,” Emma continued. “And I’ve got to pretend to be decidedly uninterested for the remainder of the night.”

Killian barked out a laugh, running his hand through his hair – the other hand was still firmly behind his back – and shook his head at her. “I apologize in advance for the trouble the tuxedo has already caused you Swan, but I do hope to make it up to you.”  
  
“Yeah? How so?”  
  
He pulled his hand around in front of him to show an _entire_ bouquet of red roses and Emma heard Mary Margaret sigh again, bordering dangerously close to a swoon.

“For you,” he added.

Emma pressed her lips together – so she wouldn’t say something sentimental in front of David – and reached forward to grab the flowers. “Thank you,” she said quietly, staring at her shoes. “M’s, you think you can, um do something about these for now?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Mary Margaret said, stepping behind Emma and taking the flowers into the kitchen. “Don’t leave yet though! We’re taking pictures!”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma groaned and David laughed from his seat on the couch. Killian looked a bit taken aback. “I am so sorry,” she said, looking at Killian.

He waved his hand quickly, dismissing her apology. “It’s bordering on painfully adorable, Swan, but it’s not anything to be sorry for.”

Mary Margaret was back a few seconds later, flowers sitting appropriately in a vase that Emma wasn’t even aware they owned, and her phone in her hand. “We’re not going to prom, M’s. You don’t need to do this.”  
  
“You’re not going to win, Emma,” David muttered, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Just let it happen.”  
  
Emma groaned and Mary Margaret grabbed her hand, pulling her even closer to Killian. “You’ve got to stand closer to him Emma or it’s going to look like you’re being forced into this photo.”  
  
“God forbid it looks like I’m being forced into this photo.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. “At least pretend to like me.”  
  
“That is not what’s going on and you know it.”  
  
“Smile!” Mary Margaret yelled, holding up her phone and tapping the screen. Emma was proud she hadn’t rolled her eyes.

“Alright, let’s see,” Emma said, stepping forward and reaching out her hand. Mary Margaret stared at the screen, a smile on her face that was right on the edge of over-the-top and handed Emma the phone.

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek – determined not to bite her lip and risk messing up her lipstick. They had both smiled appropriately on command, but Emma wasn’t quite ready to see how _good_ they looked next to each other or how _happy_ she looked next to Killian.

She looked happy – so happy Emma almost didn’t even recognize herself.

Killian’s arm draped over her shoulder and he kissed the top of her head lightly, looking down at the photo too. “You think you could send me that, Mary Margaret?” he asked softly – mostly into Emma’s hair – and she bit back another smile.

“Sure thing.”  
  
“Thanks.”

“I”ll send it to you too, Emma,” Mary Margaret added, answering her unspoken question.

“Thanks,” Emma muttered, looking up at Killian. “You want to go?”

“There’s a car downstairs.”

“What? You got a car?”  
  
“It’s a date, Swan,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I told you,” Mary Margaret said, smiling as she sat down and leaned against David’s side.

“It is a _work_ thing. We aren’t doing this,” she moved her hand quickly in between herself and Killian, “at work.”

“No one is going to know Swan. We eat, we drink, we dance. No one will be the wiser.”

“See,” David added. “Now Mary Margaret’s mom-pictures almost make sense.”  
  
“Hey!” she yelled, hitting his shoulder again. “It was nice!”

“Of course it was babe.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian muttered in her ear. “We can get all our non-date making out done in the car.”

Emma groaned slightly, mostly so she could ignore the _fluttering_ in her stomach. “I’ll be back later,” she said to Mary Margaret and David.

“Maybe,” Killian objected, pulling her towards the door, before she could say anything else and Emma heard Mary Margaret laughing as they walked into the hallway.

* * *

They absolutely made out in the back seat of the car.

It would have gotten totally out of hand if Emma hadn’t been determined to make sure dress stayed wrinkle-free and her curls stayed in tact. _These took hours Killian. Actual hours._ He had sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but – somehow – the two of them had managed to, mostly, control themselves on the 30-block drive uptown.

Killian kept his hand on her back as they walked into the building, ignoring Emma’s noise of disapproval. “It’s fine, Swan,” he said quietly, ushering her into the main room of the hall. “Walk.”

She did and nearly gasped when she saw the room.

It was enormous and beautiful and absolutely as over-the-top as she thought it would be. Killian directed them around the tables that were set up around the dance floor, moving them towards the wide bar in the back corner.

“Efficient,” she said, smiling at him.

“It’s cocktail hour, love, this is what you’re supposed to do.”

“Of course.”

He leaned across the bar, grabbing the attention of one of the half a dozen bartenders working and ordered two drinks, handing her the glass almost immediately.

Rum.

He had ordered her rum.

“I would have opted for wine,” Emma said, taking a sip of a drink anyway. She shivered slightly and looked up to find Killian smirking at her. Of couurse.

“I thought it was a rum kind of occasion.”  
  
“And what kind of occasion is that?”

“An under the radar one.” He made a face at her and took a swing of his own drink – Emma assumed it was rum – and tilted his head in unspoken question.

“I’m in,” Emma said, not entirely certain she was answering him.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Sure.” He nodded at her, downing the rest of his drink. Emma widened her eyes in surprise. “You alright?”

“Of course I am. Have you seen yourself in that dress, love? I’m definitely fine.”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, picking up her glass, but not taking a drink. Something was wrong. Or, rather, something wasn’t quite right.

And she was going to figure out what it was.

“Drink, Swan,” Killian said, nudging her shoulder slightly and trailing his fingers across her collarbone quickly. “Then we’re going to dance.”  
  
“Are we?”  
  
“Absolutely. Can’t let that dress go to waste.”

“Or the tuxedo.”  
  
“Or the tuxedo,” he repeated, staring at her like he wanted to do _anything_ but dance in front of the entire _New York Record_ staff, but holding his hand out to her anyway.

“You need to work on your under the radar,” Emma muttered as he pulled her away from the bar and onto the crowded floor.  
  
There was an actual band in the back corner. Emma would have been impressed if she wasn’t worried about that announcement and how quickly Killian had downed his rum.

“I’ll do my best for the rest of the night, Swan,” Killian answered, pulling her around in front of him and resting his hand on her hip. Emma stared at him. He sighed and moved his hand farther up to the slightly more appropriate location of her waist. “Better?”  
  
“Good enough.”

“I am to please.”

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“Doubtful, Swan?”  
  
“Not at all. I do, however, know there’s something you’re not telling me.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“You tell _me_ I’m an open book,” Emma said, leaning back to meet his eyes. “You should take a look at yourself sometime.”  
  
“I think that’s just a talent you have, love.”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Maybe.”

He eyed her for a moment and Emma felt his hand move farther up – so it was resting on her back. She shook her head. “You are terrible at this,” she said.

“Dancing? I am a fantastic dancer, Swan.”  
  
“I’m not talking about the dancing. People are going to _see_.”

“And I somehow can’t bring myself to care. Have you seen that dress?”  
  
“I bought it.”

“Then you’ll understand where I’m coming from. I’ve never been more ready for a night to be over.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
He tilted his head as if he couldn’t believe Emma was asking him this question and opened his mouth – Emma assumed – to inform her just about much he wanted to be anywhere but on this dance floor with her, when he was very quickly interrupted.

“Emma! I need to talk to you!”

Kathryn.

“Jeez,” Emma mumbled, doing her best to stay focused on Killian, but Kathryn was undeterred.

“Emma! I can see you.”  
  
Emma spun slightly. Killian kept his hand on her back and Kathryn’s eyes lingered there for a few extra moments before she stared at Emma.

“What’s going on Kathryn?” Emma asked.

“I just told you. I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Ok, so talk.”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Killian laughed softly behind her and Kathryn looked like she was about to faint. She shook her head quickly. “I really think it’d be better if we did this by ourselves.”

Emma groaned, glancing at Killian out of the corner of her eye. “You want to go get us another drink, maybe?”  
  
“Sure, Swan,” he said softly, squeezing his hand before turning back towards the bar.

“What’s going on Kathryn?” Emma asked, not even trying to hide her frustration.

Kathryn’s eyes were wide as she stared after Killian, but it didn’t take long for her to answer. “So it’s true then,” she said.

“What’s true?”  
  
“You and Killian.”  
  
“Me and Killian, what?”

“You can’t just keep repeating me, Emma. I _know_. Everyone knows.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma objected. She could really use that drink right now about now.

“Sure you don’t.”  
  
“Honestly.”  
  
“If Killian held you any tighter just now, he was going to squeeze several internal organs.”  
  
“What a delightful picture.”

“I am serious, Emma. I know there’s something going on. How long?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“How long have you been together?”  
  
Emma sighed and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “We aren’t.”  
  
“You are an absolutely horrible liar.”  
  
“This has been your story for months, Kathryn. Eventually you’ve got to decide to believe me when I keep telling you the same thing. Nothing had changed.”  
  
Emma hoped her voice sound even remotely confident. Everything had changed.

“Sure,” Kathryn said, completely unconvinced.

“What do you want me to say? You’re the one who came barreling onto the dance floor. Killian is my _boss_ .”  
  
“One you took home with you.”

“Yes,” Emma groaned. “That did happen.”  
  
“And you don’t think that’s significant?”  
  
“I think it’s one hundred percent none of your business.”

Kathryn smiled knowingly at her and crossed her arms with so much force, Emma was concerned about _her_ internal organs. “What?” Emma prompted.

“You’re arguing far too much.”

Emma groaned again and shook her head, fully ready to argue some more, but her phone went off before she could say anything – loudly.

“God, Emma, you’re at a party. Turn your phone off,” Kathryn said.

Emma pulled her phone out of her bag and glanced down at the screen. Anna. On a Friday night. In the middle of December.

“I’ve got to take this,” Emma said quickly, walking away from Kathryn and swiping her finger across her phone.

“Emma!” Anna screamed and Emma pulled the phone away from her ear quickly, grimacing at the noise.  
  
“Anna you can’t yell in my ear like that. I’m here. What’s going on?”  
  
“We won.”  
  
Emma’s heart stopped. She leaned against one of the tables next to her, knuckles turning white as she held on tightly, trying to make sure she stayed upright. “What?” she said, finding it hard to breathe properly.

“We. Won,” Anna repeated. “They approved his appeal.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“You did it Emma.”

Emma felt the tears falling down her face before she could even think about it and bit her lip tightly – lipstick be damned. “This is real? They really approved it. Henry can play baseball again?”  
  
“He can start working out with the team tomorrow if he wants.”  
  
“Did you tell him yet?”  
  
“I figured you’d want to.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Thank you, Anna.”  
  
“You did it all, Emma. You changed that kid's life.” Emma brushed the tears away from her face, trying to rub her cheeks as quickly as possible so no one would notice.

“I’m going to call Henry, ok?”

“Of course. Congratulations, Emma.”  
  
“Thanks.”

Emma stuffed her phone back in her bag and spun on the spot, clenching her fists tightly in silent celebration. _Killian_.

She had to find Killian.

Her head felt like it was on a swivel as she scanned the crowd for him. She couldn’t find him. “Killian!” Emma yelled, practically screaming his name across the hall. “Killian!”

“Over there, Emma,” Will said as he walked by her, nodding towards the opposite corner of the floor.

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking off at a flat sprint across the hall. Emma skidded to a stop next to him, ignoring his gasp as she grabbed his shoulder to steady herself. She was out of breath.

“What is wrong with you, Swan?” he asked, laughing as both of his hands fell back to her waist. “Breathe, God.”

“We won.”

He stared at her for a moment, lowering his eyebrows. “What?”  
  
“Anna just called me.”  
  
He understood then. “For real?”  
  
“For real,” Emma nodded, smile so wide she was certain her face would split in half. He let out a whoop of excitement and bent his legs quickly, pulling Emma up and hugging her so tightly _she_ was certain her internal organs were being squeezed.

She didn’t care.

“What else did Anna say? When can he play? Can he start practicing with the team?”

Emma ignored the stutter-step her heart did as Killian fired questions at her and put her hand on his cheek. He hadn’t put her down yet. They had officially given up on the under the radar plan. “He can start tomorrow if he wants,” Emma answered.

Killian let out a huff of air and buried his face in the crook of Emma’s neck. She was crying again. “You did it, love,” he said, speaking mostly into her hair.

“We did it.”

“I’d like to kiss you now.”  
  
Emma scrunched her nose. “We’ve pretty much abandoned the plan tonight, haven’t we?”  
  
“You were doing an admirable job trying to stick to it.”

“Where’s your phone?” Emma asked, moving slightly so he would finally put her back on her feet. “We’ve got to tell Henry.”  
  
“Anna didn’t?”  
  
“She said she wanted to let us do it.”

Killian reached into his pocket and handed Emma the phone. She found Henry’s number easily and hit the video option. This had to be done face-to-face. It rang three times before he answered.

“Killian?” Henry asked, blinking slightly in the screen.

“Hey Henry,” he answered, pulling the phone out of Emma’s hand so he could hold it out far enough to fit both of them on camera.

“Emma!” Henry exclaimed. “Hey! Where are you guys? Why are you all dressed up?”  
  
“We’re at a work thing,” Emma brushed off. “That’s not important. We’ve got news.”  
  
“At your work thing?”  
  
Killian nodded. “Let Emma tell you.” Henry made a face at him, but looked expectantly at Emma.

“I just got off the phone with Anna – the one from the public defender’s office. They’ve wrapped up your appeal again.”  
  
“And?” Henry’s voice cracked on the one word and Emma felt her heart expand twelve sizes at the idea that this kid was so close to seeing his dream slip through his fingers.

“They’ve approved your appeal, kid. You won. You can play again.”

Henry’s eyes went wide and he dropped the phone. Emma got a view of his room from where it landed on the floor and heard him scramble to pick it back up. His mouth hung open and Emma would have given up every story she would write on her new beat to make sure that Henry was always that happy.

“For real?” he whispered.

“For real,” Emma repeated.

“You should tell coach tomorrow,” Killian added, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Anna said you could start working out now.”  
  
“You mean we’re not going to go to the cages anymore?”  
  
Killian blinked, not responding right away and Emma felt the tension rush through his entire body. She glanced up at him questioningly and Henry waited for an answer. “You don’t need me anymore,” Killian said.

It wasn’t an answer.

“That’s not true at all!” Henry objected. “We haven’t even really started shagging fly balls. I can’t just walk into right field and expect to play.”  
  
“You’re good Henry, really good. You can do exactly that.”

Some of the happiness that had been coursing through Emma’s veins for the last fifteen minutes fizzled out at the sound of Killian’s voice and the look on Henry’s face, but she – once again – didn’t have much time to think about that.

The band played a loud, long note and Emma saw Isaac step onto the dais in front of them, tapping a microphone to get the crowd’s attention.

“Listen kid,” Emma said quickly. “We’ve got to go. They’re going to do some stuff here, but this is a good thing. The best thing.”  
  
Henry nodded enthusiastically. “I know it is. Thank you, guys. Seriously. I’m glad I’ve got people.”

“From here on out, kid. We’ll talk to you soon, ok?”

“Ok. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Emma handed Killian back his phone and raised her eyebrows at him. “What?” he asked, pulling her farther into the crowd so they could hear the announcement and Emma’s official appointment as Knicks beat writer.

“What was that about? You love helping Henry.”  
  
“True, but, like I said, he won’t need me anymore. Not if he’s got practice and teammates and a championship to go after.”  
  
“That’s not true and you know it.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged and Emma knew he was about to argue with her, when Isaac started talking.

“Welcome everybody!” he yelled into the mic. “And Happy Holidays! So as the year winds down, we’ve got some exciting news to announce. It’s a brand-new journalism world out there and a brand-new approach here at _The Record_. There are going to be some wide-sweeping changes over the next couple of weeks. A few new faces in the office and a few new faces on beats – sports writer Emma Swan is going to be taking over as the Knicks writer in January and both Sydney and I are thrilled with what she’ll be able to do at the Garden.”

Emma felt herself blush slightly and Killian laced his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand tightly. She smiled at him.

“But the biggest news we have,” Isaac continued, “is about as big as it comes.” He ushered two people up next to him and Killian’s hand practically cut off Emma’s circulation. The man was short, but impeccably dressed, leaning slightly on a cane that probably cost several months of Emma’s salary – raise included. The woman next to him had dark, wavy hair and looked as if she wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. She had a blue dress on that fit perfectly – likely tailored at the same place as the man’s tuxedo – and even from far away Emma could see she was beautiful.

“I’d like to formally introduce Robert and Milah Gold,” Isaac said. “They’ve been working with us for several weeks now, but all of the paperwork is official, so we can, finally, announce them as the new owners of _The New York Record_.”

The crowd started to applaud, but neither Killian nor Emma moved. In fact, Emma strongly suspected Killian had stopped breathing entirely.

“Hey,” Emma said, turning to put her hand flat on his chest. “It’s going to be ok.”

Killian stared at her for a moment and glanced down at her hand. Emma could feel him thinking and tried to smile encouragingly. He swallowed slowly, Adam’s apple visibly moving and closing his eyes lightly. “Killian?” Emma said softly.

He took a deep breath and looked back her.

Emma was suddenly very nervous.

“I’m leaving,” he said softly.

Emma blinked twice and lowered her eyes in confusion. “What? Ok, just give me two seconds and I can grab my coat.”

He grabbed her forearm before she could move an inch and Emma was frozen to the floor. He looked _terrified_.

“That’s not what I meant, Swan,” he said sadly.  
  
“I don’t understand.”

Killian took another deep breath and dropped his hand away from Emma and leaned back on his heels. “I’m leaving,” he repeated. “I’m leaving _The Record_.”

There was a rushing in her ears and Emma was fairly positive the entire hall was falling down at her feet. She glanced around the room, sure she would find people running to safety. They were dancing. No one else had noticed that her world had just collapsed in on itself.

“What?” she whispered.

He sighed and shook his head, running his hand through his hair forcefully. “It was going to be end sooner rather than later. I’m just taking control of my own future.”  
  
“By running away?”

“That’s not fair.”

He was right. Emma pulled her hair back over her shoulder and crossed her arms. She could be supportive. She could be understanding.

“Ok,” she said. “So, you’re leaving. That, well, that means you’ve got a job lined up right?” He nodded. “Where are you gonna go? _The Writer?_ ”

Killian shook his head slowly and Emma felt another wave of nerves wash over her. “Not _The Writer_ ,” he muttered, scuffing his foot along the floor. He was stalling.

“Where?”  
  
“Boston.”

Emma felt her jaw drop open and she took a step back from him instinctively. Boston. He wasn’t just leaving _The Record_. He was leaving New York. He was leaving her.

“Swan,” he said, reaching back towards her, but Emma moved farther away. He sighed.

“You’re going to Boston?” Killian nodded. “To write?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“What the hell are you going to do then?” Emma asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“The Red Sox,” he answered, staring at the ground. “I’m going to take over the PR department.”  
  
“PR?!” Emma was practically shrieking now. Killian still looked just as terrified, barely meeting her gaze. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“I’m not.”

“Fuck,” she mumbled, mostly to herself.

“Swan,” Killian said, stepping towards her before Emma could move again. “This...this doesn’t change anything.”

“Shut up.”  
  
“Swan…”  
  
Emma shook her head vehemently. She had delved into the realm of furious so quickly, she even surprised herself. “No, shut up, shut up, shut up. You can’t _possibly_ tell me that. Not after everything, not after I told _you_ . God, I _knew_ . I knew this would happen.”  
  
“Emma,” he said forcefully, temper getting the better of him as well. Four hours ago him calling her ‘Emma’ would have had her kissing him with everything she had, but right then it made her want to punch him in the face.

She shook her head again and spun on her heels, practically sprinting towards the door and ignoring the stares of her co-workers and Killian yelling _Emma_ behind her.

* * *

It was snowing. 

It would so figure.

Emma walked down the block, moving down towards the 1 train at the end of the street. She ignored the voice behind her.

“Swan!” he yelled. It was late, so there weren’t many people on the street, but Emma knew he was still battling through week-before-Christmas crowds. “Swan – God, you can’t just stop in the middle of the sidewalk. I don’t care if it’s Christmas. Swan!”

She ignored him.

“Emma! Will you stop for two seconds and talk to me?! You’ve got to give me a chance to explain myself.”  
  
He had called her _Emma_ more in the last four hours than he had in the eight months they had known each other. But that wasn’t what got her to stop. He wanted to explain and Emma wanted to fight. She was practically itching for an argument.

Killian caught up to her in a few steps – pushing his way through picture-taking tourists – and making a face at Emma when he stopped in front of her.

“If that’s how you’re going to start this,” Emma said, tongue nearly burning from the acid in her voice. “Then you need to reconsider your approach.”  
  
“You going to run away from me again?”  
  
“You’re the one leaving.”  
  
“I’m not.”

“Your words. Not mine.”  
  
His shoulders dropped and Emma noticed he was rubbing his hand again. “That’s true,” he said softly, only moving when a tourist bumped into him.

“So then talk.”

“It’s not going to change anything.”  
  
“It already has.”  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“That I _knew_ this would happen. I knew you would leave.”  
  
“You were just waiting for me to leave?” Killian asked. “Or just waiting for an excuse to run away?”  
  
“That’s not fair at all.”  
  
“That’s exactly what is happening.”

“I’m not the one who’s moving to Boston and giving up writing.”  
  
“I’m not either!” Emma scoffed and Killian rolled his eyes dramatically. “Ok, well, not entirely. I’m not giving up writing.”  
  
“PR is not the same thing and you know it.”  
  
“I am taking control of my options before they all get taken from me.”

“You are giving up,” Emma shot back, glaring at him. Killian looked like he had been shot. He stepped back and ran into another tourist taking a picture of the buildings around them, muttering a half hearted apology.

“No I’m not,” he argued. “You don’t understand, Swan. It was only a matter of time. Probably a few days at most. I would have been out. And everything would have changed. If I’m going to leave New York, I’m going to do it on my own terms.”  
  
“You’ve thought about this,” Emma said, realization hitting her suddenly. This wasn’t a whim. He had a plan. Killian didn’t say anything, but nodded slowly. “How long?” she asked.

“How long, what?”

“How long have you known you were going to leave?”  
  
“Can’t we use another word? That isn’t what’s happening. I’m _not_ leaving _you_.”

“How long?” Emma repeated.

“Few weeks after Milah showed up at my apartment.”

Two months. He’d been planning to leave for two months. And he hadn’t said anything, not a single word, not even an idea that he was going to leave.

She’d told him she loved him. She’d told him _everything_ – about Neal and her family and she had a drawer in his apartment for God’s sake.

Emma was practically drowning in furious.

“Jesus Christ, Killian,” she hissed.

“I didn’t know what to say.”  
  
“That’s what those e-mails were!” Emma snapped her head up to him and he looked at her questioningly for a moment. “Those e-mails you wouldn’t tell me about. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, lips pressed together tightly. “Ok,” she continued slowly. “So you’ve been planning this for weeks, but when did you _know_? How did you even interview? You never went to Boston – unless there are _other_ things you’re not telling me.”  
  
“I never went to Boston,” Killian confirmed.

“So, how?”  
  
“They wanted me. It’s a whole string of six degrees of separation, but I know a lot of people in that team and they’ve been trying to get me to join their PR department for a year. And I kept brushing them off. But then, well, this happened and I thought about it and it kind of almost made sense.”  
  
“PR made sense?”  
  
Killian shrugged. “I think I could be good at it.”  
  
“I’m not questioning that,” Emma said quickly, almost falling into the role of supportive girlfriend with ease. Almost. “I’m questioning your decision to give up.”  
  
“I’m not giving up, Swan. We have discussed that.”  
  
“No, you just disagreed me with.”  
  
“Which is a brand of discussion.”

Emma groaned and rolled her head back. Her hair was a lost cause now. “I just...I don’t understand.”  
  
“I can’t wait around for Gold to throw me out. I can’t sit in my office and write and try and put out a section, knowing that he’s upstairs biding his time and getting ready to rip away everything I love. Again.”  
  
Emma felt her heart contract slightly and bit her lip so hard it hurt. “Everything?” she whispered.

Killian groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“I don’t.”

“I love you,” he said forcefully, wrapping his hands around both of Emma’s arms and shaking them slightly. “You have to know that.”  
  
“You’re leaving.”

“This isn’t changing anything, Swan. Not a single thing.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not leaving _you_. I’m not walking away from you. I am here. Still. Indefinitely. For as long as you’ll have me. God, Emma, you have to know that.”  
  
He looked a little manic. He shook her arms again and Emma shivered. She hadn’t taken her coat. Killian ran his hand through his hair again and squeezed his eyes like he was actually in pain.

“You have to know,” he repeated softly, eyes still closed.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“You remember when we got back from Storybrooke and we were in the darkroom and we were talking about happy endings and sunsets and all sorts of cliche shit?” Emma nodded. “You remember what I told you?”

“You said that you didn’t think that kind of stuff happened for you. That you thought maybe it could have, but that you had been wrong.”

Emma’s chest hurt. She didn’t like thinking about that. Didn’t like talking about that or the moments when she pushed him away with both hands, especially not now when he was running away.

“I was wrong. Or, rather, I was wrong about being wrong,” Killian said, thumb sweeping across Emma’s cheek to wipe away the tears she didn’t know were falling. “It did happen. And I’m not willing to lose that. I won’t.”

“Lose what?” Emma asked.

Killian sighed and rubbed his eyes again, turning so that he was standing directly in front of Emma. She was frozen. He looked like he was in pain, every muscle in his face pulled tightly as he stared at her intently.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked, softly. “It’s you.”

Emma felt the breath rush out of her in one enormous huff and she nearly fell over on the sidewalk. “How can you say that?”  
  
“Because it’s true.”  
  
“You are leaving.”

Killian groaned and twisted his neck slightly. Emma shivered again and he slid his arms out of his tuxedo jacket, holding it out to her. That wasn’t fair. His shirt clung to every single part of him.

Emma shook her head – stubborn to the end.

“Take it, Swan. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”  
  
“No.”

“Swan. Take the damn jacket or…”  
  
“You’ll what? Leave?”

He made a face at her and took matters into his own hands, stepping into her space and wrapping the jacket around her shoulders. “I love you,” he said again, voice serious as he stared at her. “This doesn’t mean I don’t.”  
  
“You didn’t tell me,” Emma said, hating how small her voice sounded. “You didn’t say anything. You could have told me.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“That’s a lame excuse and you know it. We’re supposed to be a team.”  
  
“We are.”

“So what am I supposed to do now?” Emma asked. “Just work for Gold?”

“You’re not really working _for_ him. He won’t even know who you are. You have a chance, Swan, to do what you love, to get the beat and the column and all of it. You have to take that opportunity.”

“I know, I know. And I want it. I’m going to do it. I just...fuck.” She didn’t say anything else, couldn’t come up with any other words that wouldn’t make her sound like a petulant teenager.

 _I kind of hate you right now_ sounds a little immature when you’re wearing a gown and your boyfriend’s tuxedo jacket.

“I know,” Killian repeated and the disappointment in his voice caused a few more tears to fall down Emma’s face. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not good enough.”

“It’s not.”  
  
“Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to pack up one day and text me. ‘Hey, Swan,’” she said, giving a poor imitation of his voice. "‘Moved to Boston. Forgot to let you know. Make sure you take your stuff out of my apartment at some point. Love you, bye.’”

“Well I’m glad you included the ‘love’ at the end. I definitely would have added that at the end of my metaphorical text message.”

Emma pushed his shoulder hard and the smirk fell off his face immediately. “I don’t know, love,” Killian said softly. “I wanted to tell you. All the time. It’s all I’ve thought about for weeks. I just...didn’t know how.”

“When did you know about the job for sure?”  
  
“The same day they offered you the Knicks beat.” The irony wasn’t lost on Emma and she sighed, body practically drooping on the sidewalk. She didn’t even object when Killian’s arm wrapped around her waist.

“Of course.”  
  
“I didn’t want to mess things up for you.”  
  
“You’ve done that anyway.” Killian squeezed her hand, like he was trying to prove to Emma he was still there, but didn’t say anything else. “When do you start?” she continued.

“The 2nd.”  
  
“Of January!?” Killian nodded. “Oh my God.”

“Quick turnaround,” he muttered. “Want me to get settled before pitchers and catchers report.”

“And you’re good with that? PR for guys that should have been you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her again and dropped his hands like he had been stung. That had been low. Even for Emma and the anger she was knee-deep in.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s alright, Swan. You’re not wrong. I thought about it. But, it’ll be fine. It’s not much different than what I’m doing now.”  
  
“It’s totally different and you know it.”  
  
“It’ll be fine.”

“What are you going to do with your apartment? Where are you going to live?”  
  
“The team’s giving me a hotel for two weeks, so I can find an apartment,” Killian answered. “And, uh, Will’s going to sublet my place.”  
  
“Will Scarlet is going to live in your apartment?” Killian nodded. “Jeez. I’ll have to get my stuff.”

“You’ve got time.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma objected. “We don’t.”

Killian shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Swan. I...I love you. More than anything. And this doesn’t change that.”

“You’re a good liar,” she said, head pointed directly at the sidewalk. “I really do almost believe you.”  
  
“You should.”  
  
“No,” Emma objected. “I shouldn’t.”  
  
“You can trust me,” he groaned. “I thought we had moved beyond that.”  
  
“We had and then you went and planned a whole new life for yourself, in _Boston_ of all places, and neglected to tell me any of it. God, you told Will before you told me so that you could make sure someone sublet your apartment.”

“I was scared,” Killian said quickly.

“Of what?”  
  
“This,” he answered, waving his hands at Emma and her crossed arms. “I was scared of this. I was trying to avoid this.”

“Worked well.”

“Give me a break, Swan. What do you want me to say?”  
  
“That you’re running away.”

“Fine. Fine! That’s what you want to hear, then fine. I am running away. I am running away from a man who took _everything_ from me, who helped make me a completely different person, someone I don’t want to be again. So, sure, Swan, I am running away from that. And I am protecting what I helped make here. Before Gold can fuck it all up. But I am _not_ running away from you. The opposite in fact.

I am leaving because then I can at least maintain some control that way. Things won’t change much here anyway. Gold’s not going to change much in sports. I can decide on my own how things work and what kind of person I am – for you. I am trying to be good enough for you.”

If Emma wasn’t already so furious, she would have kissed him and told him to take her back to his apartment and make good use of the time they had together. But she was furious. And sad. And so disappointed her whole body ached with it.

So Emma didn’t tell her boyfriend she loved him – no matter what he did or where he was. She got mean.

“I’m going home,” she said.

“What?”  
  
“I’m leaving. I’m going to get on a train and go home.”  
  
“No, come on, talk to me.”  
  
“We’ve just spent half an hour talking. I’m not sure what else there is to talk about. It’s not like you’re going to change your mind. Even if you did, you probably wouldn’t tell me.”  
  
“Don’t do that,” Killian said softly.

“Do what?”  
  
“Put those walls back up. Don’t. You don’t have to.”  
  
“Too late.”

Killian shut his eyes slightly and sighed. He looked defeated. Emma shrugged out of the jacket and held it out in front of her, waiting for him to take it back. “Keep it,” Killian said softly. “You’ll freeze otherwise.”  
  
Emma didn’t argue – suddenly exhausted and very, very cold – slipping her arms back into the oversized sleeves.

“You’re going to have to tell Henry,” Emma said softly. “I’m not going to do it.”

“I can do that.”  
  
“He’s going to be disappointed.”  
  
“He’ll get over it.”  
  
“You think that’s what happens? People will just get over it?”  
  
“You tell me, Swan.”  
  
Emma swallowed, the sound of it echoing in her ears. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“This doesn’t change us.”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
“You’re it, Emma,” Killian said with so much certainty in his voice that Emma found herself breathless. “The happy endings and the sunshine and Mary Margaret-David type of relationships, they’re all real. You know how I know that? You. I am certain of all of that because of you.”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
“No. I need you to understand this before you walk away. You have to know, love, you have changed _everything_.”  
  
“I can’t do this right now,” Emma said, trying to turn, but Killian wrapped his hand around her wrist, stopping her before she could move an inch.

“Don’t run away from me, Swan.”  
  
“I’m not. I am leaving. It’s the same thing you’re doing.”

He let go of her hand without another word and Emma turned back down the block, heading towards the 1 train and forcefully wiping the tears off her cheeks. Killian yelled her name again, but didn’t follow her and Emma didn’t turn around.

It was only after she swiped her MetroCard and sat down on the train that she realized she never once said ‘I love you’ back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peers around computer with one eye closed and hands raised. Don't kill me. They're not breaking up. They're really not. And there's a point to this. There really is. I know a ton happened, but there was an idea here that almost, kind of matched up with the show. Agh, just don't kill me guys.


	39. Chapter 39

“Uh oh,” Elsa said, leaning against the doorframe to Emma’s room and staring at her. “I know that look.”

Emma didn’t say anything – just kept staring at the ceiling and turned the volume up even higher on her headphones. It was what she had been doing for the last two days, since he stepped off the train in Storybrooke. 

She barely said two words to Ingrid when she got home, spent most of the eight-hour train ride in a daze, ignoring Mary Margaret’s attempts to get her to eat. 

It had been like that for a little over a week. 

Deep down, Emma  _ hated  _ it. 

She was frustrated and angry with herself, well aware that she was wasting the final few weeks she had with Killian in the same city as her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything differently. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to talk to him. 

She covered games and filed stories and did her best to stay away from her desk as much as humanly possible. 

Killian had tried. There were texts and e-mails and some very impressive attempts to corner her in front of her apartment. 

None of them worked. 

And, finally, he stopped. 

He didn’t show up in front of her apartment anymore, spent most of his time at work locked up in his office, putting things into boxes and talking to a guy Emma had been introduced to, but couldn’t remember his name. Jefferson? It might have been Jefferson. 

She should probably learn her new editor’s name. 

Instead she had fallen head-first into  _ wallowing _ and Emma didn’t know how to stop. 

It wasn’t fair. 

And she was mad. And disappointed. And so sad she could hardly see straight. 

“You’re missing all the festivities,” Elsa continued, walking into Emma’s room with ease and laying down next to her on the bed. “Cora is losing her mind over the amount of tinsel David put on the tree. They’re actually having a tinsel fight.”  
  
“I’m not all that interested in tinsel, El,” Emma muttered, throat scratchy. 

“You’re not all that interested in anything it seems.”

“What do you want me to say?”   
  
“I want to know what’s going on. So does everything else.”   
  
“I’m even less interested in everyone else than I am in the tinsel.”   
  
“Bah humbug.”   
  
Emma groaned and turned the volume up on her headphones – again – pointedly ignoring her sister. Elsa shook her head, moving the pillow they had somehow wound up sharing, and yanking one of the headphones out of Emma’s ear.

“Ow,” Emma yelped as Elsa narrowed her eyes when she realized what the song was. 

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Honesty by Billy Joel. 

“It came up on the shuffle,” Emma said softly. “You just came in at a particularly inopportune time.”

“Sure.”   
  
“I know that look,” Mary Margaret said, appearing in the doorway as well and clicking her tongue. “Haven’t seen it in awhile, but I know it.”   
  
“She’s listening to Billy Joel,” Elsa added, glancing over Emma’s head. 

“I’m right here,” she mumbled. “I can hear you.”   
  
Mary Margaret walked into the room, arms crossed and a concerned look on her face. She sank onto the bed, laying down on Emma’s other side and forcing the other two to move a bit, opening up space. 

Emma suddenly felt a decade younger. It made her sad. 

“I know you can hear,” Mary Margaret said softly, shoving Emma’s arm slightly with her own. “The real question is whether or not you’re listening.”   
  
“Probably not.”   
  
Mary Margaret sighed, but Elsa simply seemed to get more determined. “Talk,” she said, voice practically commanding. 

“There’s not anything to talk about. He lied.”   
  
“He didn’t lie,” Elsa objected. “He just didn’t tell you some stuff.”   
  
“Some very important stuff.”   
  
“Have you even talked to him?” Mary Margaret asked. 

“No.”   
  
“David thinks he’s losing his mind a bit, you know. Tried everything he could think of to get you to listen. Said you wouldn’t give him the time of day.”   
  
“I’m kind of mad M’s,” Emma sighed. 

“I know that and you should be, but this is  _ stupid _ .”   
  
“That’s a very pointed opinion.”   
  
“She’s right, Emma,” Elsa added, headphone falling out of her ear so that Emma could hear the faint sound of music in the background. “You got hurt. He knows it. You know it. He’s trying to fix it.”   
  
“Still doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving.”   
  
“And why does  _ that  _ change anything?”   
  
Emma sighed and closed her eyes tightly. Elsa had asked the one question Emma had hoped to avoid completely – because she wasn’t sure she had an answer. 

She was so mad she could hardly see straight, but in the back of her mind she knew, it didn’t really have to change anything. Boston wasn’t the other side of the world. It wasn’t even the other side of the country. It was a four-hour drive. 

They could make it work. 

Probably.

Definitely. 

_ God _ . Emma should have a degree in running away.

“I know you’re hurt,” Mary Margaret said. “Killian knows that. But if you think I’m going to lay on this bed and let you act like you’re actually seventeen, Emma, you’ve got another thing coming. He’s not giving up on you.”   
  
“That’s what it feels like.”   
  
“That’s not what it is.”   
  
“So what is it, M’s?”

“He’s trying to give himself his best chance. Can’t you see that?”

“I know,” Emma mumbled. 

“Then talk to him,” Elsa added. “And maybe acknowledge that it’s Christmas Eve. Ingrid’s worried you’re never going to come out of your room.”

“He’s not giving up on you,” Mary Margaret repeated. Emma still hadn’t opened her eyes. “That’s not what he told David.”  
  
Emma groaned, rolling her head to the side and, finally, looking at Mary Margaret. “We’re all far too close. We need more secrets in this family.”  Mary Margaret and Elsa ignored the word  _ family _ and Emma tried to stop her stomach from flipping around. “Alright, I’ll bite M’s. What did he tell David?”   
  
Mary Margaret didn’t answer immediately, lifting her hips up slightly to pull her phone out of her back pocket. Her fingers moved across the screen quickly and she tapped several things before handing it to Emma. 

_ Could you just tell her something for me? _ Killian had texted David – a week ago, just before he stopped showing up in front of her apartment. 

**_Sure._ **

_ Just tell her I’m sorry. And that this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I love her.  _

There weren’t any more messages. Emma’s stomach felt like it was in knots. 

“See?” Mary Margaret said softly, small smile tugging on the ends of her mouth. 

“He stopped showing up after this,” Emma whispered. “David..didn’t...he never said. Anything. I didn’t…”   
  
“Say anything to Killian?” Elsa finished. 

Emma nodded, licking her lips quickly. Her mouth had suddenly gone very dry. “He thinks I don’t care. That’s why he stopped showing up.”   
  
“No,” Mary Margaret objected. “He thinks he fucked up.”   
  
“M’s!” Emma yelled, scandalized to her very core. “What even?”   
  
“Emma, you’ve got to realize something. He puts on a fantastic  _ show _ , but that’s all it is. A show. Killian isn’t confident. He’s never been confident. But things have changed over the last couple of months. I’ve seen it. David’s seen it.  That’s because of you. Don’t you know that? And you’ve  _ always _ been confident, but you’ve never believed in anyone except yourself.”   
  
“Let me guess?” Emma asked, sarcasm rolling off her. “That’s changed in the last couple of months too?”  
  
“Ding ding ding,” Elsa muttered. Emma glared at her. 

“Killian knows you care. He knows you love him. But he  _ knows _ you too,” Mary Margaret continued. “And you’ve changed his entire outlook on, well, everything. So he got scared that was going to change. He didn’t tell you and that was wrong, totally wrong, but I think Gold had him terrified. He took so much from Killian before and he wasn’t willing to let you become part of that list too. So he didn’t tell you”

Emma huffed out a breath of air. 

“You’ve got to talk to him,” Elsa said. 

“I know.”

“You going to?”  
  
“I don’t know.”

“Stubborn until the very end.”

Emma shrugged, but didn’t say anything else as three heads turned in unison towards the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. 

Ingrid let out a low laugh and shook her head at the picture in front of her. “Well this is a sight I didn’t think I’d see again,” she said, walking into the room with a smile on her face. “I feel like it’s ten years ago and I should be holding a pint of ice cream.”

“Emma’s even listening to Billy Joel,” Elsa muttered and Ingrid whistled softly. 

“That seems significant,” she said, sitting on the end of the bed and Emma wondered how this very old mattress was supporting four people. “Does Billy Joel have anything to do with why you’re acting like teenage-Emma?”   
  
“Maybe,” Emma admitted. 

Ingrid shook her head again. “Next time I’ll make sure to actually bring the ice cream then.”

“Wouldn’t go to waste,” Mary Margaret said. 

“Anway,” Ingrid continued. “I came up here to tell you that we’re about to head to Granny’s. And then, I promise, if you three all behave yourselves we’ll stop by the store later and get you some ice cream.”

Emma groaned and shook her head, finally, pulling the other headphone out of her ear and sitting up. “You going to be ok?” Ingrid asked, staring straight at her. Emma nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

“Good,” Ingrid said, reaching over to squeeze Emma’s hand before walking out. 

“You really going to be ok?” Mary Margaret asked and Emma felt Elsa looking at her speculatively. 

“Only if everyone stops asking me that.”

“That’s fair,” Elsa said, getting up quickly. Mary Margaret followed suit and Emma was  _ certain _ she saw them share some sort of vaguely significant looking glance between them. She ignored that. And the  _ ding  _ of Elsa’s cell phone. 

Emma brushed her hand over her shoulders and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, turning towards her sister and her best friend with an expectant look on her face. “Well?” she said. “Who’s ready for Christmas cheer?”   
  
Mary Margaret smiled at her, glancing once more at Elsa, and nodded. “Yeah, I think you deserve some spiked eggnog.”   
  
“Deal.”

* * *

Granny’s annual Christmas Eve dinner was a Storybrooke tradition that went back as far as Emma could remember.

Everyone came. Everyone drank. Everyone got drunk on spiked eggnog. 

The diner was covered in garland and twinkling lights and there was food  _ everywhere _ and Emma almost – almost – felt herself genuinely smiling. 

Or maybe that was just the spiked eggnog. 

She reached for another glass and felt a hand wrap around her wrist in warning. “Slow down sailor,” David muttered. “You’re practically shaking.”

“You know I’m mad at you,” Emma said, flicking his arm. It didn’t have much of an impact. Probably had something to do with the spiked eggnog. 

“That so?”   
  
“M’s showed me the text messages.”   
  
“Don’t follow.”   
  
“I know you talked to Killian.”   
  
David sighed and shook his head and filled Emma’s glass, letting go of her wrist and turning towards her, an apologetic look on his face. “He’s upset, Emma.”   
  
“So am I.”

“I realize that. Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
“You are terrifying when you’re mad, Emma.”

She groaned and shook her head, taking another long drink of eggnog. “I guess that’s kind of true.”   
  
“It’s absolutely true,” David said. “And you kind of had to figure this out on your own. I wasn’t going to get involved if I didn’t have to.”

“I guess.” Emma glanced around the diner, sinking onto one of the counter stools. “Although maybe not as terrifying as that,” she nodded towards Regina in the corner, trying to direct Granny and her food placement and David laughed softly. 

“Definitely not as terrifying as that.”

“Well at least there’s that.”

Emma watched the scene unfolding in front of her and laughed at Granny as she smacked Regina’s hand away from one of the platters of food. Robin appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and wrapped his arm tightly around his wife, whispering something in his ear and, suddenly, everything was fine. 

Regina’s shoulders dropped and she shook her head slowly, but didn’t argue anymore, visibly leaning against Robin’s side and – Emma was certain she was imagining it – she smiled at him. 

“Look at that,” David muttered. 

“True love and all that,” Emma said quickly, heart clenching slightly at the words. 

“Emma Swan, the optimist?”   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
David’s eyes focused on something over Emma’s shoulders and she raised her eyebrows slightly at him, making a face. “What’s your deal?” she asked. 

He nodded towards the window and Emma spun on the stool, eyes wide as she felt all the breath rush out of her lungs. 

Killian Jones stepped out of a car, eyes trained on his phone as his fingers moved across the screen. Somewhere, a few feet away, Emma heard Elsa’s phone go off. 

“I knew it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “The sneak.”   
  
Killian turned on his heels, moving towards the door and glanced through the giant window on the front of Granny’s Diner. His eyes met Emma’s immediately – like he couldn’t think of anywhere else to look. 

“Emma?” David asked and Emma bit her lip tightly. “Go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, standing up shakily and pushing her way through the small crowd of people before swinging open the door and running across the final few feet. He hadn’t moved an inch. 

Emma licked her lips again and skidded to a stop, blinking once before raising her hand and brushing her fingers across his jaw. He looked like he finally started breathing again after holding it for several centuries – or the last two weeks. 

“Hey,” Emma whispered. 

“Hey.”   
  
“How...how are you here?”   
  
Killian nodded towards the car and Emma shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Why? And...well why?”   
  
“Was that not obvious?” Emma shook her head again. “I came to see you.”   
  
“I don’t understand.”

“It’s Christmas,” Killian shrugged. “And I just..I was home and I...well at the risk of sounding like some teenage sap, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”   
  
“But you stopped,” Emma argued. “You stopped showing up.”   
  
“I know you, Swan. And I know you don’t like to be pushed. So I stopped pushing. That never meant I stopped believing in you...or us for that matter.”

“Really?” Emma asked, her voice sounding particularly small. 

Killian nodded emphatically. “Of course. I love you, Emma.”   
  
“I love you too.”

She said it before she thought about it, before she remembered how angry she was or how disappointed she was that he was leaving. But it was true. And it was the reason she felt all of this to begin with. 

Because she loved him. 

Killian smiled at her, the effect of it shooting straight to Emma’s core and she shrugged. “I do,” she said softly. “A lot. That’s why I got so mad.”   
  
“I know that, love. And I’m sorry. So incredibly sorry. I can’t say it enough.”   
  
“You don’t have to.”   
  
“I do,” he said, shaking his head. “You were right, Swan. We’re, well, we’re supposed to be a team and I didn’t take that into account when I started thinking. It wasn’t fair. I just couldn’t let Gold take this all away from me. So instead of waiting I ran, as fast as I possibly could, and that included running away from you.”   
  
“I understand that approach.”

“Are you as scared as I am, Swan?” Killian asked, hands wrapping tightly around her forearms. Emma lowered her eyebrows slowly. 

“Of?”   
  
“Messing this up.”   
  
“You’re not,” Emma shook her head. “And, yeah, I am.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again.   
  
“Don’t be. We’ve both messed up in the last few weeks. But if you’re willing to fight for this, then so am I.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Emma said, the sure sound of her voice sending a chill down her spine. “Are you?”

“I was willing to spend hours fighting for this in front of Macy’s and hordes of tourists. I’m not leaving, Swan.”  
  
“Not really,” she muttered. 

“Hey,” he said softly, hand finding its way into her hair as he ducked his eyes to meet her gaze. “This doesn’t change anything. Every single thing I’ve felt about you, every absurdly sentimental thought I’ve had, all of them are just as real and just as strong as they were a week and a half ago. You know that, right?”  
  
“But you’re still leaving.”   
  
“I can’t stay at that paper, love. I can’t.”   
  
“I know that.”   
  
“So then do you think you can try and understand?”

Emma nodded. “I do. Really,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m any less disappointed about it.”   
  
“I realize that. It’s not fair to ask you, but I’m willing to beg if you want.” He nudged her chin up slightly and smiled at her, a sort of half movement and Emma realized how nervous he actually was, suddenly appreciating what it must have been like to drive to Storybrooke by himself on Christmas Eve. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Emma said. “But I wouldn’t say no to kissing.”  
  
Killian laughed – the first genuine smile Emma had seen since he stepped out of the car – and pulled her closer to him, dragging her feet along Granny’s parking lot. “I think we can make that happen,” he mumbled against her lips before kissing her. 

Emma groaned slightly, like she was finally waking up, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, ignoring the several dozen Storybrooke citizens who were likely staring at them through the front-wall window. 

His hands worked inside her coat and Emma could feel how warm they were even through her sweater. That did something very particular to breathing level. Killian didn’t seem particularly put out by the audience they had. 

“Killian,” Emma muttered, not moving away from him. “People are watching.”   
  
“Don’t care.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“I was hoping with you,” he said slowly and that nervous smile was back on his face. 

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Did you think I’d make you sleep in your car?” Killian shrugged. “Of course you can stay.”   
  
“We’re going to make this work,” Killian said, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders and staring at her seriously. “No matter what.”   
  
“I really do believe you.”   
  
“Because I really do mean it. I’m ready to fight for you, Emma Swan.”

Emma took a deep breath, the feel of it almost painful in her lungs. No one ever wanted to fight for Emma Swan. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information that someone wasn’t just willing, they wanted to. 

So she kissed him instead. 

Action. Not emotion. 

“I love you,” she said softly. 

Killian nodded slowly. “I love you too. More than anything.”   
  
“Can I ask you a question though?”   
  
“Shoot.” 

“You never said how you got here.”   
  
Killian laughed and widened his eyes, the blue of them practically taking over completely. “Your sister is very persuasive.”

Emma gaped at him. “That's really what all those text messages were? That was you?”

“At least some of them were.”

“And what did she say?”  
  
“That you were wallowing.”  
  
“I don’t wallow!”

“Of course not, love. But I was. Decidedly. And I needed to do something about it. That’s what this is, by the way. The doing something about it.”   
  
“I’m glad. I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”   
  
“Never,” he said and it sounded like a promise. A big, overwhelming one that Emma, normally, would have run away from. Instead she stayed rooted to the spot, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing as tightly as she could.

“You want some food?” she asked and Killian shook his head at the abrupt change of subject. 

“Love some.”   
  
“And spiked eggnog.”   
  
“Even better. C’mon love, I should say hi to Elsa in person.” He tugged on her hand slightly and Emma noticed several people turn away from Granny’s window as the walked to the door together. 

* * *

“How did I get so much stuff here?” Emma asked, folding a pair of jeans and stuffing them into a bag.

KIllian shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s not a bad thing though.”  
  
“It is now,” she argued. “I should have brought another bag.”

“You could leave some stuff.”   
  
“Huh?” Emma glanced over her shoulder, rolling up a shirt and sticking it into one of the far corners of the bag. 

He sat up a bit straighter on the bed and leveled a stare at Emma. “I’m just saying, you could leave some stuff.”   
  
“So, what, Will can have it?”   
  
“No, absolutely nothing about Will and your clothes.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“You could leave some stuff  _ with me _ , Swan,” he sighed. “I’ll take it with me. Is what I’m saying.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms, clothing coming unfolded in her hand in the process. “Oh,” she said softly. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“No?” She ignored the soft tone of his voice – the disappointment there – and pulled her lips behind her teeth. 

“Um, no, I guess not.”   
  
“Well, I mean, you’ve got to come to Boston at some point right? The Knicks play the Celtics. They’ll definitely send you there.”   
  
“We haven’t really talked much about travel yet.”

After they had gotten home from Storybrooke – and worked off the several-day-long hangover that Granny’s spiked eggnog ensured – Emma had practically lived on the 24th floor of  _ The New York Record _ building, listening to Isaac’s plans for coverage and talking to Jefferson the new sports editor. 

She should probably just think of him as Jefferson. 

“Oh, I just figured...” Killian trailed off slowly, shrugging again. Emma shook her head, trying to refold the shirt in her hands. She failed no less than three times. 

This kept happening. 

These awkward silences and half-finished sentences – ever since they had gotten back to New York a few days ago. They’d spent two more nights in Storybrooke after Killian got there –  _ What are they going to do if I don’t show up, Swan? Fire me?  _ – and while they had both agreed to  _ fight _ for this, whatever that meant, it certainly hadn’t been easy. Or particularly comfortable. 

They were walking on eggshells. 

And they weren’t doing a particularly good job of it. 

They didn’t do eggshells. They never had. They did immediate sarcasm and banter and  _ flirting _ . They didn’t do nerves or censored conversations. 

At least they hadn’t until that week. 

And Emma was fairly certain she was losing her mind. 

Everything seemed  _ half _ – half thoughts, half emotions, half kisses. She tried not to be too disappointed. She couldn’t handle anymore disappointment. 

“Swan?” Killian asked, shaking Emma out of her own thoughts. She glanced back at him – her shirt had come unfolded again – wide eyed and tried to pinpoint the moment she had drifted out of the conversation. 

“You alright, love?” he asked, sliding off the bed and taking a few steps towards her. His fingers left goosebumps on her forearm.

“Sure.”  
  
“Yeah? You got all glossy-eyed there for a minute. What are you thinking about?”  He trailed his fingers farther up her arm, wrapping his hand around her shoulder as he pushed her hair back. Emma felt some of the tension ease out of her, leaning into his hand slightly. Killian raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for an answer. 

“I am thinking 800 things all at once.”  
  
“That’s impressive.”  
  
“It’s exhausting.”

“Well,” he said slowly, bending his head slightly and moving his mouth to where his hand had been. Emma was certain she had melted into the floor. “Start with one thought and then work your way up from there.”   
  
“I didn’t think about Boston,” she said quickly, surprising even herself with the first thought of her 800-thought list.

“You’ll get to travel, Swan. Tell Jefferson the new sports editor to move a bit quicker through the instructional manual and then demand that they give you extra leg room when you fly. Argue for that one.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she mumbled, only somewhat distracted by  _ whatever _ he was doing with his mouth. “It’s what I said before, I didn’t even think about leaving anything with your or even going to Boston. That doesn’t seem like a problem to you?”   
  
He made a noise against her shoulder and Emma would have sworn she  _ felt _ it in her toes. “I can’t think when you do that,” she said softly.

“Good.”

“Killian,” Emma whined, pulling on his hair slightly to bring his eyes back to her. God, they were blue. 

“Swan,” he countered, staring right at her. 

“You don’t think that’s a problem.”  
  
“I’m choosing not to see it that way.”   
  
“How are you choosing to see it?”   
  
“As something we simply haven’t talked about yet,” he said easily, but Emma saw his eyes cloud a bit as he answered. “Otherwise I think I may actually go crazy.”   
  
“It’s not going to be easy. Especially if I am traveling with extra leg room. This season lasts forever.”   
  
“I realize that.”

“And won’t you have to go to spring training?” Emma pressed. “I mean if they wanted you there before pitchers and catchers? We haven’t talked about that either. I just kind of figured they would. Lots of PR’ing to be done in Florida.”   
  
“No, you’re right. But that’s not until March.”   
  
“Killian, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

What a depressing New Year’s Eve. 

He shrugged at her – third time in less than 10 minutes, Emma was certain that was a new record. “I don’t follow.”   
  
“I’m just saying that’s soon,” Emma argued. “And we haven’t talked about any of it. God, we haven’t talked about anything.”   
  
“Swan, all we have done is talk.”   
  
“No! We haven’t!” Emma took several steps back and sighed, pushing her hand into her hair. She felt like something had snapped. It might have been her. “We’ve danced around it for days, but we haven’t really talked about anything. We’re too nervous about making the other person feel bad.”

Killian sighed and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, ducking his head slightly. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”   
Emma certainly had snapped. “What?” she yelled, practically screeching the word at him. “You just don’t want to talk about it? You love talking. And, for the record, when this all falls apart, I’m going to bring up this moment and remind you that you didn’t want to talk about it because it was too difficult.”

“I didn’t say any of that.”   
“That is exactly what you said!”

This almost felt normal. Almost. It was more an argument than banter, but there was some emotion behind it and, despite everything else, that had always been the core of  _ this _ . They were both so God damn emotional – because they had both spent so much time doing their best to pretend they weren’t. 

Emma shook her head at Killian and he groaned in frustration before taking one – very long – step into her space, pulling her by the waist and kissing her with so much  _ emotion _ that Emma nearly saw stars. 

She sighed into his body and if Emma thought she was melting before, it was nothing to what she felt now. She wasn’t even certain she had limbs anymore. 

“What are you doing?” she asked when he finally broke away to breathe. 

“I am not talking about this anymore,” Killian answered forcefully, hand still ridiculously tight on her waist. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I can’t  _ think _ about this anymore. So we’re not going to do that. We’re going to do anything else.”   
“Anything?” Emma asked skeptically as his hand moved along the top of her jeans.    
“Well,” he amended, “one thing.”   
Emma didn’t say anything else – couldn’t come up with a single letter that would have been even remotely appropriate in a moment like that – just stood up on her bare tiptoes and tried to put every single ridiculous  _ emotion _ she had felt since he got out of the car at Granny’s into one single kiss. 

She wasn’t positive, but she thought it worked. 

The confirmation came two seconds later when he practically ripped her shirt off. 

“If you tear that,” Emma mumbled against his mouth. “I will actually kill you.”   
“I don’t care.”

He wasn’t wearing a belt – Emma bit back a slightly manic laugh when she realized – and she trailed her finger along the top of his pants, hand moving progressively lower until he groaned, head tipping forward onto her shoulder. 

She laughed at that slightly. 

His teeth tugged on her neck in response and Emma didn’t laugh anymore. 

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus. It didn’t work. 

He moved away from her neck – where Emma was fairly positive he had left a mark – and traced his lips over her collarbone, hands holding onto her hips like they were some sort of anatomical lifevest. 

Emma tugged on the bottom of his shirt, trying to remember a single word she had ever learned. “You’ve got to take this off,” she muttered, words only slightly jumbled as Killian pushed the tips of his fingers under the top of her jeans. 

“Demanding,” Killian answered, moving his hand again and laughing softly when Emma whined. “Relax, love,” he said and it felt like a shot through her entire system. “I’m moving so I can take them  _ off _ .”   
“Even clothes footing,” Emma argued, protests turning into a sigh when he kissed her again. 

They hadn’t moved an inch. 

He had started kissing her and it was like they were both frozen to the ground. The bed was still several feet away. There was probably some sort of hidden meaning to that – like they couldn’t move because they were so determined to be  _ together _ , but those kinds of things sound vaguely absurd when you say them out loud. 

“So demanding,” he repeated, but pulled away from her slightly and lifted the bottom of his shirt with one hand. 

It wasn’t even fair. 

Emma trailed her finger down the plane of his stomach and took a moment to enjoy the way he shivered slightly when she stopped  _ just _ above his pants. “Swan,” he threatened and she smiled at him. 

“Look who’s demanding now.”

“I just know what I want.”   
“And what is that? Exactly?”   
Killian’s eyes flashed up towards her – finally moving away from the stare he was practically boring in her hand – and Emma almost took a step back instinctively from the look. 

“You,” he said softly. “I want you.”   
Emma blinked once, but kept his gaze – practically challenging him  _ to take her _ – without saying a single word. He picked up on the message rather quickly. 

Killian bent his knees and wrapped one arm around Emma’s waist, lifting like he was simply picking up a wooden bat, and stepped back until his legs hit against the side of his bed. She wasn’t sure how he managed it – he must have  _ practiced _ this at some point – but he spun them so Emma fell back on the mattress first, hair fanning out behind her on the pillow before Killian moved next to her. 

They were a flurry of hands and movement and  _ emotions _ that they absolutely were not talking about for the rest of the night and it didn’t take long until they were on Emma’s mandated even-clothes footing, sliding under blankets and moving their hands even more. 

Emma wasn’t certain he stopped kissing her once. 

She pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck when his hands moved a very  _ particular _ way, twisting her shoulders slightly in response. He chuckled against her skin, breath causing even more goosebumps which caused even more laughter and Emma tried not groan in annoyance at how infuriating he could be. 

She loved him an absolutely absurd amount. 

She was going to miss him an absolutely absurd amount. 

They weren’t doing that. They weren’t talking. They were  _ doing _ . Decidedly doing. So Emma didn’t say anything. 

She didn’t tell him that she was terrified – to her very core – that he would leave and he’d never come back or he’d eventually stop calling or that he’d carved out a place for himself in her life that Emma was certain no one else would ever be able to fill. 

She kissed him instead, rolling her hips forcefully and running her tongue against his lower lip until she drew  _ that  _ sound out of him and smiled. 

“Swan,” he mumbled. “All. Night. We have got all night.” He punctuated every other word with a kiss, tugging on  _ her _ lower lip in an almost desperate way that Emma had never noticed before. 

She tried not to dwell on that. 

“Your point?” she answered distractedly, hand trailing along his thigh. 

“My point,” he said slowly, almost sounding like he was in pain, “is that you don’t have to rush. I’ve got big plans for you, love.”   
“You’re talking way too much.”   
“You love plans,” he muttered, kissing up her neck and moving up slightly so his entire body was aligned with her. “And lists and goals. I’m just sharing.”   
Emma sighed, trying not to think about the rush in her stomach or the almost overwhelming way she wanted him. “You said we weren’t talking,” she accused, scratching down his back while she wrapped her legs around his calves. 

He nearly collapsed on her. Emma smirked at him. 

“I said I didn’t want to talk about other things,” he objected. “I never once said I didn’t want to talk about all the things I wanted to do to you. It’s a rather extensive list.”

“Seems better just to show,” Emma said slowly, pushing her hips up again. Killian squeezed his eyes shut and Emma saw his teeth bite down forcefully on her lip. 

“Fuck,” he muttered half to himself, eyes still closed. 

“I win,” Emma said. 

Killian shook his head slightly – he had, finally gotten a haircut so it didn’t fall across his forehead when he moved – and leaned away from Emma slightly, reaching into the nightstand drawer next to his bed and practically ripping open the wrapper immediately. 

“Efficient,” she muttered, still smirking at him and Killian glared at her. 

“Swan, I swear, if  _ you  _ don’t stop talking soon…”   
“What?” she teased, moving her whole body underneath him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He pulled back slightly and stared at her for a moment eyes light with all that  _ emotion _ they were both pointedly ignoring before he showed her exactly what he was going to do about it. And, suddenly, Emma couldn’t breathe. 

Or talk. 

She never got to hear the list, but later – when she was fairly certain they had accomplished most, if not all, of it – Emma couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Instead, she listened to the even sound of Killian’s even breathing, his head resting just a few inches away from her, and tried to memorize everything about that moment. 

They hadn’t talked about it. 

And, now, they had run out of time. 

Emma brushed her lips over his forehead and he moved slightly, muttering something that sounded like  _ go to sleep, Swan _ . She smiled softly, pulling herself down so her whole body fit against his perfectly and felt Killian’s arm tighten around her. 

She wouldn’t cry. 

She wouldn’t ruin the moment. 

She would go to sleep and tomorrow would be  _ fine _ . 

“I love you,” he mumbled, still half asleep, words pressed up against the top of her head and settling into that space he seemed to have carved out in her heart.

Emma didn’t need a sixth sense or even  _ any _ sense to know tomorrow wouldn’t be fine. 

God, this was going to suck. 

//

They didn’t really sleep, but Emma’s alarm went off anyway. Killian groaned loudly at the noise. 

“Why is that thing on?” he muttered against her shoulder, arm still wrapped as tightly around her as it was a few hours before. 

“Responsible. It’s responsible to have an alarm.”

He groaned again and reached over Emma towards the offending noise, hitting several buttons until the phone turned off. He practically threw it into the corner of the bed. 

“Hey,” Emma yelled, voice turning into a  _ yelp _ when he pulled her flush against him. “I need my phone.”   
“Not right now you don’t.”

“Eventually, I will. Like tomorrow. Or later today. Were you planning on letting me know you actually made it to Boston?”   
“Of course I was Swan,” he said softly, lips seemingly trailing across her shoulder blade of his own accord. 

“That’s good to know.” Her voice sounded soft and sad and Emma scrunched her nose tightly at her inability to keep  _ emotion _ out of the equation. They still weren’t doing this. They weren’t going to talk to about it. 

“Why would you think I wouldn’t?”   
“That was more conjecture than anything else,” Emma mumbled, back pressed flat against his chest. She tried to grab his hand so he would stop moving it across her thigh, but he was undeterred. In fact, that just seemed to make him more determined. 

They were, after all, still on very even clothes footing – no clothes footing. 

“You’ve got to get up,” Emma said, doing her best not to move her hips by instinctively. Killian laughed darkly and she shook her head slightly. “You know what I mean,” she added. “But the alarm went off for a reason.”   
“A responsible reason, I’m told.”   
“Yes, exactly that. It’s 10 o’clock.”   
“Ten? Really?”   
“I don’t think the alarm would lie to us.”   
Killian’s fingers trailed up Emma’s leg again and settled firmly on her waist. “What if we didn’t get up?”   
“That’s not part of the plan,” she argued. 

“I’m not interested in the plan.”   
“It’s your plan.” Emma moved slightly, turning so she was facing him and biting her lip at the look on his face. She felt Killian’s shoulders sag and he shut his eyes lightly, hand gripping her waist tightly. 

“I know it is,” he said softly. 

“You’ve got a hotel to check into.”   
“In Boston.”   
“In Boston,” Emma repeated. 

“I’m sorry.”

Emma shook her head, putting her face flat against his cheek. “Don’t. Don’t do that. We’re not talking about it right? That was the agreement?”   
“It was.”   
“Then stop breaking your own rules. I’m gonna go shower, ok?”   
Killian nodded and rolled back, laying on his back and Emma saw his entire chest move up with the deep breath he took. “Yeah, of course,” he muttered. “I’ve got to finish packing some stuff too.”

Emma walked back into the bedroom 20 minutes later to find Killian staring at a suitcase on his bed, a slightly entertained smile on his face. “What’s the matter?” she asked. 

“Nothing.” He didn’t look up at her. 

She looked around him to see what he was staring at – two of her shirts and one sweater folded on top of a pair of his jeans. 

“Oh,” Emma muttered. Killian glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, the effect of it shooting down her spine. “I just, well, I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal.”   
“Of course it isn’t.”

It was a huge deal. 

An enormous deal. 

A chock-full of emotions deal. 

He turned around completely, hands coming up to rest on her forearms. “My cab’s going to be here in a couple of minutes, love,” he said softly. 

Emma nodded once, trying to take a deep breath. “Sure,” she whispered. She didn’t trust herself to say anything else. 

Killian leaned down and grabbed the strap of a bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “That all you’re bringing?” Emma asked, nodding towards the bag and the still-open suitcase sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. 

“I didn’t want to bring a ton until I actually got an apartment. Not a ton of space in hotel rooms, you know?”   
“Sure,” Emma repeated. 

“I should go,” he muttered. 

“Ok.”

They stood in the elevator in silence, his left hand gripping Emma’s as tightly as possible. She tried not to focus on that. There were emotions involved in that. 

The cab was waiting on the sidewalk when they walked out of the building – which seemed like a sign of some sort, one Emma wasn’t willing to recognize or even consider. She heard Killian sigh as he walked towards the driver, handing over the bag and the suitcase and watching him put it in the trunk. 

“Where to?” the guy asked. 

“Um...Penn,” Killian answered quickly, voice only cracking slightly. “Just, um, just give me one second, ok?”   
The driver nodded and slammed the trunk closed, making Emma jump. Killian turned back towards her, rubbing his hand and not meeting her eyes. He bit his lip and Emma did her best to take a deep breath. 

It hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

“You’re going to miss you train,” she said, eyes starting at the sidewalk. 

“I’m not,” he countered. “I’m so early, it’s almost embarrassing.”   
Emma nodded quickly – she didn’t know what to say. He took a step towards her and pushed his hand into her hair, fingers wrapping around the back of her head and pulling her closely towards him. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he just rested his forehead against hers, almost like he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.    
“Stop saying that.”   
“I am.”

“You’ve got to go,” she said, glancing up at the very impatient cab driver staring at them.    
“Pushing me out the door, love?”

“No.”

Killian sighed again and this time he did kiss her – so soft and so nervous that Emma felt the tears falling down her cheek before she could do anything about it. 

“Swan,” he said softly, brushing the tears away, fingers lingering on her cheek. He didn’t tell her not to cry and when Emma looked up she noticed his own eyes were glossy. 

“I know, I know,” she said. “I’m not normally a tearful goodbye kind of person, but...maybe just this once.”   
She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, hands pushing into his hair and all but yanking his body up against her. Killian sighed against her mouth and ran his hands up and down her spine. 

The cab honked. 

Emma groaned and shook her head. “Impatient asshole,” Killian muttered. “See if he gets a tip.”   
“You’ve got to tip him, Killian. Those are the rules.”   
Killian sighed and leaned back, eyes serious as he looked at her. “It’s going to be ok, right?” he asked and Emma suddenly realized how worried  _ he  _ was. 

“Sure.”   
“A picture of confidence, Swan.”

“Your plan.”   
“I know, I know,” he mumbled. “I love you.”   
“I love you too.”   
He kissed her again, slowly and torturously and Emma wanted to tell him a million different things all at once – mostly not to leave. But she didn’t. She bit back every sentimental idea that passed through her mind and did her best to smile. 

Killian didn’t believe her for a moment. 

He leaned back, tilting his head away from her and reaching his hand up towards his neck. Emma lowered her eyebrows, staring at him and he just shook his head quickly, a silent request to wait. 

She did. 

And then he did something that completely caught her by surprise. 

He tugged the chain he always wore over his head and, suddenly, Emma’s eye were wide open. “Don’t look quite so terrified, Swan,” Killian muttered, laughing slightly. “It’s not anything like that.”   
Emma huffed out an exhale of breath and continued to stare at him. He was smirking at her and she was certain her heart snapped in two at the look. “Keep it,” he said softly, forcing the chain – and the ring that was hanging off it – into her hand. 

“Killian…” He shook his head again. 

“Now’s not the time to argue, love,” he said, closing his fingers over hers so the ring was wrapped up in her fist. Emma pulled her hand away quickly and opened up her hand, staring at the thin band, the silver glinting in the sunlight that was practically mocking her. 

She looked at if for a moment, holding it between two fingers. Killian never took it off. Not once since she had seen him – in various states of undress – had seen noticed it anywhere except hanging around his neck. 

He swallowed audibly in front of her and Emma knew his nerves were getting the best of him. 

“Why?” she whispered. 

“I want you to have it. For now at least.”   
“Awfully sentimental.”   
He shrugged and laughed under his breath again. “Maybe I’m feeling awfully sentimental.”   
Emma narrowed her eyes again, trying to make out the inscription on the inside of the band. It was letters. For a moment she thought they were Killian’s initials – the ‘J’ jumping out at her – but then she realized, the first letter was different. It wasn’t an ‘K,’ it was an ‘L.’ She gasped, nearly dropping the ring in the process.

“Killian,” she repeated, shaking her head and looking up at him wildly. He  _ couldn’t _ . No wonder he never took it off.

It was Liam’s ring. 

“It’s good luck,” he said softly, a small smile on his face. “Always has been. I had it for every good thing that’s ever happened to me. My interview at  _ The Record _ , my first breaking story, getting run over by you.”   
“I don’t know if that’s a particularly good thing,” Emma mumbled, still staring at the ring in her hand. 

“Hey,” he said sharply, lifting her head up to look at him. “That was a good thing. The best thing.”

Emma chuckled under her breath and rolled her eyes slightly – mostly to make sure that she didn’t start to cry again – and met his gaze. He looked incredibly certain. 

“I can’t take this,” she said. 

“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it to you.”   
“Well, you can’t do that either.”   
“You’re not allowed to tell me what to do with my own possessions, Swan. If I get to bring some of your stuff to Boston, then you get to keep some of my stuff in New York. That’s only fair.”   
“This is totally different and you know it,” Emma argued. “This is not the same thing as a t-shirt. This is...this is Liam’s.”   
She  _ hated _ the way her voice cracked on his brother’s name, the way he blinked slowly when she said it and tried to smile. 

Killian nodded slowly. “It is,” he agreed. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you to have it. Good luck and all that.”   
He didn’t wait for her to argue anymore – although her mouth was half open with all the reasons he had to keep Liam’s ring – just pulled the ring out of her hand and wordlessly moved the chain over her head. 

Killian’s hand lingered over the ring, sitting unceremoniously on the Seton Hall athletics t-shirt Emma was wearing and smiled. “Looks good,” he muttered. 

She put her hand on top of his and bit her lip tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“I’ll call you when I get to the hotel,” he said. 

“Ok.”

The cab honked again and Emma’s smile faltered for one second. “Just do me one favor, Swan?” Killian asked, taking a step away from her. 

“What?”   
“Trust me, please.” He sounded dangerously close to begging and Emma bit her lip tightly. “I’m not done fighting for you yet, love.”   
Emma nodded, throat tight with all that  _ emotion _ she had been trying to push back into the corner of her mind. She didn’t say anything – couldn’t bring herself to even open her mouth – just blinked quickly, trying not to cry anymore. 

Killian leaned around her, brushing his lips across her cheek and she was sure she must have tasted like salt. “No matter what,” he added softly, squeezing her hand softly before turning on his heel and sliding into the backseat of the cab. 

Emma stopped crying as soon as the cab turned around the block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for sticking with me on this one – I know we've kind of nose dived back into the angst, but I really, really appreciate every single click, comment and kudos. You guys are the best.


	40. Chapter 40

She stopped referring to him as Jefferson the new sports editor a week later.

Instead, Emma started referring to him as Jefferson the pain in her ass.

It seemed more appropriate.

Jefferson wanted to be involved in everything and he had an _opinion_ on everything. It was driving Emma insane. And it had only been a week.

“Emma,” he said after they had filmed their first video update on the Knicks season – formally introducing him as _The Record_ ’s brand-new sports editor. “We’ve got to do something _more_ on these.”  
  
“More?”

He nodded enthusiastically and Emma eyed him warily. In the short time she had known Jefferson, Emma realized he did _everything_ enthusiastically. And maybe a bit manic. And over-the-top.

He clapped his hands quickly, bobbing up and down on his feet slightly and nodded again. “Yeah. I mean, there’s so many options on camera. We could play horse!”  
  
“You want to play horse? Like the game?”   
  
“Don’t you?”   
  
“Not particularly. I’d rather not embarrass myself if I don’t have to.”   
  
“Imagine the hits!”

It was definitely a bit manic. Emma tugged on the chain around her neck absently, only dropping her hand when she realized Jefferson was staring at her. Emma shrugged her shoulders and made a face – this had to end now.

“I don’t really have time, Jefferson,” she said, resisting the urge to tug on the chain again. “I mean I’ve got a game tonight and then I’ll be in Cleveland this weekend and _that_ is going to be an absolute disaster. I don’t know when we’d get a chance to film another video.”   
  
“We’d make it work.”   
  
“Don’t you have other stuff to do?” Emma argued. “A section to put out and stories to edit and whatnot? And when do you even sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much,” Jefferson said, brushing her off quickly as he glanced up towards his office door. Will was standing there, an entertained smile on his face as he took in the conversation happening in front of him.

“Hey Jefferson,” he said and Emma knew he was trying not to laugh. “A couple of the guys want to talk to you about layout for tonight if you’ve got a chance.”  
  
“Sure,” Jefferson said, standing up and pushing his chair back behind his desk – Killian’s desk. Emma bit her lip tightly. “Think about the videos, Emma, ok? We can figure out the schedule of it later. The hits would be through the roof.”   
  
Emma did her best to nod encouragingly – like she was actually about to play basketball on camera any time soon – and followed Jefferson out of his office. She was ready to walk back to her desk – maybe see how Mary Margaret was faring in her first week back at school – when Will grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.

“What’s your deal Scarlet?” Emma asked sharply.

He made a face at her and tightened his grip. “What’s _your_ deal, Emma?”   
  
“I don’t follow.”

“Just friendly curiosity with how you’ve been faring the last week or so.”

Emma lowered her eyebrows and twisted her mouth slightly. “That so?”

Will did his best to keep his face neutral, but Emma knew – without question – what he was really asking her. Hell, he was _living_ in Killian’s apartment now. He knew how long he’d been gone.

Emma had fielded this question several dozen times since she had walked back into her apartment with red eyes and slumped shoulders. She didn’t cry in front of Mary Margaret or David – both of whom seemed to be expecting a torrential downpour from her – or when Ingrid and Elsa called a few hours later.

In fact, Emma hadn’t cried once since Killian got in the cab.

She was kind of proud of that.

But she also knew there was something else going on – something she was desperately trying to avoid admitting. Emma was compartmentalizing. She was ignoring and, she thought, doing a pretty good job of it.

Mary Margaret totally knew.

She didn’t say anything, but she totally knew.

Everyone else seemed to be playing along – Killian included. Because, and this may be what worried Emma the most, he was ignoring too.

“Of course that’s so,” Will said and for one slightly-terrifying moment Emma thought he was going to ask her about Killian.

He didn’t.

She started to breathe again.

“So what do you think of the new guy?” he asked, nodding towards Jefferson who was now surrounded by several layout editors, all of them staring at a computer screen in the corner of the office.

“You’re just calling him ‘the new guy?’” Emma asked, not even trying to disguise her laughter.

“Isn’t that what he is?”  
  
“He’s the new sports editor.”   
  
“Still a guy.”   
  
“Still your boss.”

“That is true,” Will admitted. “Doesn’t make him any less insane.”  
  
Emma grimaced, glancing back at the layout computer to see Jefferson’s hands waving frantically and three slightly terrified editors surrounding him. “Yeah, that might be true,” Emma admitted. “He’s very enthusiastic.”   
  
“What was he saying about hits?”   
  
“Oh,” she groaned. “He wants to play horse on camera.”

“Like the basketball game?” Emma nodded. “With you?” She nodded again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Emma,” Will continued, “but I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Neither am I if we’re being honest. And, as I pointed out to Jefferson, I don’t exactly have a ton of extra time to be staging basketball-shooting competitions on camera. I’ve got to be in Cleveland this weekend.”  
  
“How exciting.”   
  
Emma shrugged. “I’m kind of pumped actually.”   
  
“For Cleveland?”   
  
“It’s the first time I’m traveling for a game.”   
  
“Ever?”   
  
“That’s usually what the word _first_ means.”

“The sarcasm is a little much,” Will eyed her – his own sarcasm obvious in his eyes. Emma sighed. “When do you leave?”  
  
“Friday. Game Saturday. Back here on Sunday.”

“That’s efficient.”  
  
“Jefferson wanted me back here on Monday to film again,” Emma sighed. “He was very enthusiastic. I just don’t understand where this obsession with the video stuff came from. I mean, they were into it when Killian and I were doing it, but this is like a whole new level of enthusiasm.”   
  
“Oh, I know why,” Will said suddenly. Emma raised her eyebrows speculatively. “Gold wanted it. Or at least that’s what they’re saying on lifestyles.”   
  
“Lifestyles is talking about sports videos?”   
  
“No, lifestyles is talking about lifestyles videos. But apparently Gold ordered those too. From what I’ve been told, he saw the numbers you and Killian were pulling and wanted to start a whole thing for every section. He was super adamant about getting _his_ people on camera too.”

“His people?”  
  
“You know, like Jefferson and that new woman in news – Belle, something or another?”   
  
“French,” Emma supplied. “Her last name is French.”

Will made a face and pressed on. “That’s why all of this is happening anyway.”

“So, wait a second,” she said slowly, something bordering close to realization sweeping over her. “So if Jefferson is Gold’s _guy_ , then when did they decide he was going to take over sports? Killian only put his notice in like a month ago.”   
  
“You really want to hear _that_ rumor?”

“Sure.”

“From what I’ve heard, this was kind of months coming,” Will said slowly, eyeing Emma nervously. She chewed on her lower lip, hand rising to the chain almost automatically. “Like Gold was going to bring Jefferson in no matter what.”  
  
Emma was certain she bit her lip in half.

“Yeah?” she asked, trying to sound like this was the least important news she had heard all day. Will nodded slowly, thin eyes staring at her.

“I guess they were going to force Killian out. Doesn’t make any sense to me at all. But I guess he and Gold knew each other?”

Emma shrugged, hoping to play off her lack of knowledge.   
  
Killian had been right.

And she had been angry.

Now she was mostly sad.

“Good thing the Sox wanted him, huh?” Will continued, not realizing Emma was staging some sort of mental battle with herself and the continuation of no-crying trend.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Absolutely. Definitely a good thing.”  
  
She was babbling now. Will had that entertained look on his face again. “You sure you’re ok, Emma?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she repeated, waving her hands in front of her. “Totally.”  
  
“If you say so.”   
  
Emma nodded, desperate to turn the line of questioning away from her and how not-fine she actually was. “So I’m kind of close to you now,” Will continued. “You know, housing-wise and everything?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that rumor.”  
  
“There are rumors about the apartment I’m subletting?”

“There are rumors about everything here.”  
  
“That’s true,” Will sighed. “So are the rumors true?”   
  
“About?”   
  
“Being kind of close to you now housing-wise.”   
  
Emma nodded her head in understanding. “Yeah, yeah, they are. I’m about five blocks away from you.”   
  
“It’s a pretty insane apartment. No wonder Killian didn’t want to give it up.”   
  
“What?” she asked sharply.

“Well, I guess he’s on like a six-month lease or something like that and he signed it even though he knew he’d be going to Boston.”

“Why would he do that?”  
  
“Beats me,” Will said, making a face. “But he told me he wasn’t quite ready to give up on it yet. Seemed kind of like a weird thing to say about an apartment.”

Emma pressed her lips together tightly, not trusting herself to say anything more than a slightly speculative grunt.

He kept the apartment.

He re-signed his lease.

She wondered why he hadn’t told her.

“I mean,” Will continued, still oblivious to Emma’s thoughts, “kind of makes it seem like he’s planning on coming back doesn’t it?”  
  
“Maybe,” she said dismissively, unwilling to go down that path and those possible-expectations. “Listen, I got to head to the Garden. Go make sure those layout guys don’t have a heart attack over everything Jefferson wants to do tonight, ok?”

“I can absolutely do that.”  
  
Emma nodded once, tugging on the chain as she spun away from Jefferson’s office – Killian’s office – and heading back towards her desk to grab her stuff.

She never asked him about the apartment.

* * *

“You promised.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed slowly, all but collapsing on her bed while Mary Margaret stood expectantly in the doorway. “I did. But that was before they pushed me off my original flight onto one that left at two in the morning and I got approximately four hours of sleep.”  
  
“And I understand that. But David is so excited and we were supposed to celebrate the exam and the travel and, well, you promised.”   
  
Emma groaned softly, throwing her arm across her eyes. “Give me five minutes to take a shower.”   
  
She could practically _hear_ Mary Margaret smiling at her. That almost made this worth it. Almost.

Jefferson had texted her the night before while she was walking out post with a _suggestion_ that was bordering dangerously close on a demand.  _Hey, Emma_ , he wrote, _so change of plans. We’re going to get you out on an earlier flight and you’ll be back in city by Sunday morning_.

Turned out when he said Sunday morning, he, literally, meant Sunday morning. Like five in the morning. Because her flight was at two. In the morning.

The game itself had gone well – the Knicks only lost to the Cavaliers by 12 and that was basically a win – and if Emma had managed to get any sleep between Saturday and Sunday she probably would have been in a ridiculously good mood.

But she hadn’t gotten any sleep and she was exhausted and her ridiculously good mood had taken a ridiculously hard hit as soon as she realized there wasn’t any extra leg room on the red eye from Cleveland to JFK.

“You look tired,” David commented when Emma walked into the living room twenty minutes later.

She threw him a glare – which he answered with one of his own – and sank onto the couch next to him. “You’re going to make such a good detective,” she muttered. “So quick to notice the little details no one else can.”  
  
“Hysterical.”   
  
“It’s because I’m so tired. The sarcasm gets amplified with how exhausted I am.”   
  
“Then I’ll prep myself for a night filled with biting sarcasm and scathing comments on my future as a police detective.”   
  
Emma rolled her head along the back of the couch and smiled at him, flicking David’s arm. “Hey,” she muttered. “You it’s not all sarcasm, right? There’s a bit of pride in there for New York’s finest as well.” He rolled his eyes at her at the latest round of sarcasm, but he returned her smile with one of her own. “How did the test go?” Emma added, trying to make sure she kept her eyes open for his answer.

“No, no, no,” Mary Margaret said, rushing into the living room with her hands raised.

“What is wrong with you, M’s?” Emma asked, threat of over-tired laughter threatening to burst forward.

“She’s made rules,” David said softly.

“For?”  
  
“For tonight.”   
  
“And we are going to follow them,” Mary Margaret said forcefully, pushing her hands onto her hips.

“Teacher voice,” Emma muttered to David. He barked out a laugh, quickly trying to turn it into a cough. Mary Margaret didn’t look amused.

“The rules,” Mary Margaret continued, ignoring her exhausted roommate and thoroughly entertained boyfriend, “are no talking about anything – the exam or Emma’s game until we are at the bar.”  
  
“What are we supposed to talk about before we get to the bar?” Emma asked.

“We’re all supposed to like each other, we should be able to figure out something to talk about that isn’t career-related while we walk to the bar.”  
  
“I’m not walking anywhere,” Emma objected quickly.

“It’s ten blocks away.”

“No walking, M’s.”

Mary Margaret sighed dramatically – they were throwing quite a wrench in her Sunday night plans. “Fine,” she groaned. “We can take a cab. But no work talk.”  
  
“Deal,” Emma said, grabbing her boots from the floor in front of her. “You want to play eye-spy in the cab?” she asked David, earning a smile and another groan from Mary Margaret. She had done it only for the reaction.

“Absolutely.”

They got out of the cab 15 minutes later – after finding four stop signs, three yellow cans and one green cab, much to the disappointment of Mary Margaret who wanted to talk about _things_ – and walked into the bar, grabbing a table in the back.

David was quickly elected to get drinks –  _You’re the guy, David. You can push through crowds. Flash your badge!_ – and Mary Margaret stared at Emma from the other side of the table once he walked away.

“What?” Emma said slowly.

Mary Margaret held up her hands. “Nothing. I’m not even remotely worried about you, my best friend in the entire world, who looks like they’re about to pass out in this bar and has been decidedly ignoring the fact that her boyfriend and former boss moved to the one city she hates more than anything else in the world last week.”  
  
“That was a run-on sentence.”

“A run-on sentence that _totally_ wasn’t filled with concern.”   
  
“We’ve talked about this.”   
  
“No we haven’t. I have tried and you’ve ignored me.”   
  
“I’d never ignore you, M’s.”   
  
Mary Margaret threw Emma a disbelieving look – something that was much funnier in Emma’s exhausted state than it should have been.

“I know it’s tough,” Mary Margaret continued, “but I think you’ve got to talk to someone. I know you’re not talking to Killian.”

“Ok, several things. First of all, I am talking to Killian. Secondly, I don’t need to talk about anything else to anyone. And thirdly, I especially do not want to talk about this now because I’m tired and more liable to cry over this nonsense. I want to hear about the exam, drink and then go home and possibly collapse.”  
  
Emma widened her eyes waiting for Mary Margaret to try and _talk_ more, but she didn’t. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and smiled.

“Nothing to add, M’s?”  
  
“Nah. That’s fair. I mean, we’re kind of drifting into uncharted emotional and advice territory for me.”   
  
“Yeah?”

“David and I have never really done the long-distance thing, let alone the long-distance thing quite as suddenly as you two have. Seems almost wrong to try and force you to talk about that when I know you don’t want to.”  
  
Emma was taken aback – she was going to cry for a completely different reason. “Thanks, M’s.”

Mary Margaret reached across the table and squeezed Emma’s hand at the same time David returned, three glasses balanced in his hands. “Did I miss a moment?” he asked, sliding into the booth.

“Nah,” Emma objected, grabbing her drink and rolling her eyes at Mary Margaret. “M’s and I don’t do moments anymore.”  
  
“No?”   
  
“All that romance is just for you guys. I’d hate to infringe on your territory.”

“Well, thanks,” David said, voice awash in sarcasm, as he lifted his glass. “To Emma,” he announced, nodding towards her and Mary Margaret. “For making it out of Cleveland alive and surviving a flight that did not include extra leg room. The tweets were good again.”

Emma made a face, ignoring the blush on her cheeks, and lifted her own glass. “To David,” she said, earning a wide-eyed stare from him. They never toasted anyone else. “For absolutely ace’ing the detective’s exam and setting up a career chock-full of catching horrible, awful criminals, making the streets safer for little, old ladies.”  
  
“Only little, old ladies?” David asked, staring at Emma over the rim of his glass.

Emma shrugged. “Little, old men too. You know if you’re feeling particularly charitable.”  
  
“I think those are the rules.”

“And how dangerous are these criminals we’re talking about?” Mary Margaret added, one eyebrow raised slightly.

Emma flailed her hands slightly – _God_ , she was so tired – and made a face at Mary Margaret. “I hadn’t given it that much thought M’s, just general run-of-the-mill danger. Give me a break, it was my first toast!”   
  
“Thanks a lot, Emma,” David mumbled, wrapping his arm tightly around Mary Margaret and kissing the top of her head. “They’re not that dangerous, babe. Just criminals. Run of the mill, like Emma said.”   
  
“Exactly,” she added. “Can we clink glasses now so I can drink?”   
  
“Of course,” Mary Margaret said, some of the tension relaxing out of her shoulders as she leaned against David’s side.

The three of them clinked glasses – as tradition dictated – and Emma took a sip of wine. “So, how did the exam actually go?” she asked.

“It was long,” David said. “And exhausting.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me about exhausted.”   
  
“Fine, fine,” he laughed. “You win the exhaustion battle. You cool, now? Crazy competitive weirdo.”   
  
“I am cool now,” Emma said, fighting off the urge to slide down the back of the bench. “Thank you.”   
  
“Yuh huh.”   
  
“And you’ll find out…”   
  
“Congratulations on your ability to interview so intensely while you claim to be exhausted,” David said and Emma eyed him impatiently. He sighed and shook his head. “Probably in a couple of months or so.”   
  
“Why did they move your flight up so early?” Mary Margaret cut in, clearly intent on changing the subject quickly. Emma noticed half her drink was gone already.

“I have no idea,” Emma answered honestly. “I left the game and had a text message from Jefferson telling me they had bumped me up. It was probably a money thing.”  
  
“Jefferson the new sports editor?”   
  
“I’m trying very hard to just think of him as Jefferson.”   
  
“And how’s that going?”   
  
“Not great,” Emma admitted. “He’s...very enthusiastic. And,” she added quickly. “Apparently there because of Gold.”   
  
“The new owner?” Mary Margaret asked, downing the rest of her drink.

“Yuh huh,” Emma nodded. “Will told me that Jefferson is one of Gold’s _people_ or something like it’s fucking 1972.”   
  
“Did people only have other people in 1972?” David asked. “That seems oddly specific.”   
  
“Sarcasm,” Emma muttered. David nodded solemnly and Emma blinked several times. “Anyway, I’m trying to do my best to make sure things go ok with him, but he’s insane. Like he’s going 110 miles a minute. All the time. And I am so tired.”   
  
Mary Margaret squeezed Emma’s hand again and smiled at her. “It’ll get better,” she promised. “He’s probably just trying to get settled in. Maybe he’ll calm down a little bit once he’s got a few weeks under his belt.”   
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Emma replied quickly, not entirely believing it. She was far too tired to be optimistic.

Emma lasted almost two more hours in the booth before she nearly started falling asleep with a drink in her hand. She heard Mary Margaret say something about leaving and felt David’s hands on her shoulders as he dragged her out of the bar and back onto the sidewalk.

He hailed the three of them a cab and, somehow, Emma managed to get back into the apartment. She was ready to fall face-first onto her bed when Mary Margaret grabbed her forearm, pulling her up short.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Thanks for this.”  
  
“What?” Emma asked. She was confused. “I didn’t do anything.”   
  
“You put up with my rules and sat in the booth for hours and I know you’re going through some shit, so I just appreciate it.”   
  
“Did you just say shit M’s or did I dream that?”

“Said it. Consider it a present.”  
  
“Deal.”   
  
“Go to bed Emma.”   
  
“Deal.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her again and Emma moved down the hallway slowly, sinking onto her bed so she could pull her boots off. She hadn’t even taken her jacket off when her phone rang.

Killian.

“Hey,” she muttered into the phone, desperate to try and keep her eyes open.

“You ok, Swan?” he asked and Emma felt her stomach flip slightly at the obvious concern in his voice.

“Fine, just kind of tired.”  
  
“Kind of?”   
  
“Very.”   
  
“Didn’t you sleep?”   
  
She had texted him after she landed – complaining about the lack of extra leg room, a fact Killian was also very upset about – but hadn’t told him she went out with Mary Margaret and David.

“Swan?” he prompted, trying to get an answer out of her. It was more difficult over the phone. He couldn’t just raise one eyebrow at her. “You gotta answer me, love.”  
  
“I didn’t.”   
  
“Swan.” The nickname sounded like eighteen syllables as he drew it out and Emma fell back onto her pillows, groaning slightly. She heard him laugh quietly into the phone.

“What?”  
  
“You need to sleep, Swan,” he said and there was that _concern_ again, making Emma’s stomach do somersaults. “You’re not an asset to the paper if you’re too tired to write.”

“You’re concerned about my ability to be an asset to the paper?”  
  
“Of course not.”

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“I’m worried about you.”   
  
“I just...haven’t been sleeping very well the last couple of days. Even without the extra leg room.”   
  
Killian was silent for a moment and Emma was certain the call had dropped out. She pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced quickly at the screen. He was still there. “Killian?” she asked. “You ok?”   
  
“I haven’t been sleeping much either, he said quietly and Emma got the distinct impression that it was an admission.

“No?”  
  
“No.”

“Why not?”  
  
“I’m sure you can figure it out,” he sighed.

“Probably,” Emma answered quietly, closing her eyes lightly. She wouldn’t cry. She might fall asleep, but she wouldn’t cry. “Hey,” she said suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love.”  
  
“Will said you resigned your lease. That you kept the apartment. Like for another six months.”   
  
“That’s a statement, not a question.”   
  
“I’m too tired to argue.”

He sighed again and Emma _knew_ he was running his hand through his hair. She grabbed the chain around her neck without thinking about it – this was becoming a habit, whenever she was feeling _somethin_ g _,_ she tugged on the ring – waiting for him to respond.

“I thought it was a good idea,” he said after what felt like an eternity of silence.

“For?”

“The future.”  
  
“The future?”   
  
“Let’s not do this repeating thing, Swan,” he said quickly. “I thought it was a good idea to have in case...something happens.”   
  
“I don’t understand.”

“You really going to make me do this?”  
  
“I really don’t understand.”   
  
“You’re always going to be in New York, Swan,” he whispered, words all jumbling together in an effort to get them out. “And I just figured that if you’re always going to be in New York, then I should have _something_ in New York. In case something happens.”   
  
Emma was exhausted, but she got the distinct impression that he was talking about a future where they were _living_ together. Maybe this whole conversation was a dream. That would have made more sense.

“But you’re not in New York,” Emma said quietly.

“I know that, love, but you are.”  
  
“Ok…”   
  
He laughed softly and Emma’s heart fluttered in her chest. “You’re tired, Swan. You should sleep. We can, uh, we can talk about this later.”   
  
“I’ve got to film again tomorrow too.”   
  
“Already? Didn’t you just do something before the Cleveland game?”   
  
“Jefferson is very enthusiastic,” she said, not telling him that his replacement was only there because Gold had made sure of it. Emma didn’t want to ruin the conversation.

“You’ll do great, love. The last one was good. I mean, it wasn’t us good, but it was good.”  
  
“You watched the last video?”   
  
“Of course I did,” he answered quickly, sounding slightly scandalized that Emma even had to ask.

“Thanks.”

“Go to sleep, Swan. You can’t even string complete sentences together.”  
  
“That was a full sentence!”   
  
“That was a word. Go to sleep.”   
  
“Fine,” Emma huffed, sitting up quickly to, at least, slide her arms out of her jacket. “I am going to sleep now.”   
  
“Good.”

“I love you,” she said, leaning back down on the pillow and rolling onto her side.

She could practically hear him smiling. “I love you too,” he answered. “Let me know how tomorrow goes.”  
  
“Won’t you be busy PR’ing?”   
  
“Not too busy for you, love.”  
  
Emma smiled and shut her eyes. “Bye.”   
  
“Bye.”

She dreamt about that _future_ he talked about.

But this time it wasn’t a picket fence in Storybrooke. It was his downtown apartment and pictures in frames and notebooks filled with column ideas and stats strewn across a coffee table.

It was perfect.

And when Emma woke up her entire body ached from how much she wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are delightful. Have I told you that? Because you are. Thank you for every click, comment and kudos and we're closing in on the end here. Or end'ish. Id' say we're aiming for about six or seven more chapters before our guaranteed happy ending. Thank you all again for sticking with me on this monster of a story.


	41. Chapter 41

“I made the team.”

Emma almost choked on her hot chocolate and gaped at Henry – sitting calmly on the other side of the table.

“What?”  
  
“I made the team,” he repeated, a small smile creeping across his face.

“But it’s only the end of January.”  
  
“Doesn’t change the facts,” Henry continued. The smile was absolutely enormous now. “Turns out they actually need a right fielder. Like desperately. And apparently they think I can hit, so that helped my cause a bit.”  
  
Emma put her cup down, pushing it a few inches away from her so she wouldn’t inadvertently knock it over. “Of course you can hit. Any idiot coach would be able to see that. You spent enough time in the cage.”

“You’re bordering dangerously close to stage-mom territory,” Henry pointed out, raising one eyebrow at her in a move that was _so_ Killian, Emma was certain her heart was about to explode.

“Supportive,” she said. “There’s a difference.”  
  
“Of course.”

“So, you going to actually tell me why they’re deciding the team in January?” Emma asked. She couldn’t do the eyebrow _thing_ , but she was fairly confident in her ability to get her sarcasm across. “Or you just going to lord that information over me all day? I paid for your drink kid.”  
  
“And, you know, you’re the reason I’m on the team,” Henry added quickly, ducking his eyes.

“That’s not true and you know it.”  
  
“Ehhhhh….”

“Tell me what your coach said. And how awesome you are.”

“They had a week of workouts and they went really well. I hit great and I moved ok in the field. So they cut it down to like 20-25 guys and we’ll do winter workouts as a team until the season actually starts in March.”  
  
“See, awesome.”  
  
Henry shook his head – the smile still plastered across his face – and took a drink of his own hot chocolate. “They didn’t have the best year last season, so they’re hoping to kind of turn things around. If we make a run at a city title, I think I might be able to attract some schools. Maybe some prep stuff, get a scholarship.”  
  
“You’ve got it all figured out,” Emma said, pride practically pouring off her.

“I’ve been talking to Killian.”  
  
Her eyes widened immediately and she almost choked again. “Really?”  
  
Henry shrugged. “I mean, I know he’s not here so he can’t help with practice and stuff like that, but he said he still wanted to make sure I knew he was in my corner or something like that. There were a lot of sports metaphors.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Emma said, shaking her head, ignoring the ding of her phone. It was probably Jefferson. Wanting to film. Again.

Emma couldn’t do anymore videos. She _couldn’t_. The comments on the last one were bad enough.

“You want to check that?” Henry asked. “It’s been going off like non-stop.”  
  
“Not non-stop,” Emma muttered, flipping the phone over as if that would make it stop beeping.

“I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to get in trouble at work.”  
  
“I am entitled to my breaks,” Emma said, sounding a bit petulant even to herself. Henry laughed. “And also I’m avoiding my editor.”  
  
“The guy who took over for Killian?” Emma nodded. “What’s wrong with him?”  
  
Emma made a face – she wasn’t going to complain about work to an 18-year-old that she had just bought hot chocolate. She still had some standards. So, instead of going into detail about Jefferson and his video _suggestions_ and how bad she was at playing horse on camera, Emma waved her hand dismissively and changed the subject completely.

“How’s school going?” she asked.

“What?”  
  
“School. You go to school, right?”  
  
“I go to school.”  
  
“Well, then how’s it going?”  
  
“Are you checking up on me?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious as to what you’re doing other than shagging fly balls in the outfield. So, how’s school going?”

“It’s going fine.”  
  
“Fine?”

They had delved into _teenage boy_ territory rather quickly and Henry didn't seem all that interested in talking about life in high school hallways. Emma was nothing if not persistent. She’d dealt with plenty of sources who didn’t want to answer her questions.

So she just changed her approach. “Bet it’s weird being back after last year,” she said.

“Kind of. A lot of my friends had graduated already. That’s why I wanted to make sure I got on the team. Built-in friends, you know.”  
  
Emma nodded understandingly and ignored the near-deafening sound of her heart breaking. This kid deserved so much more than what he got. “More homework than usual?”  
  
“Nah,” he said quickly. “And I don’t mind some it actually.”  
  
“Really? What do you not mind the most?”  
  
“History.”

Henry’s face brightened up immediately and Emma shook her hair off her shoulders. She had hit on the right topic. “Yeah? That was David’s major too, you know, when we were in school? He loved that kind of stuff.”  
  
“He told me that.”  
  
“What? When?.”  
  
“A while ago,” Henry said evasively. “Did he have a favorite part?”

Emma made a face, taken aback slightly. She didn’t have an answer. Or at least not an immediate one. Because she was fairly certain Henry had just lied to her face.

Emma also was never much for history. Or giant textbooks that cost $80 to buy. She didn’t need textbooks for her classes – just a ridiculous amount of notebooks.

“That’s a really good question,” she said. “Ummm maybe the American Revolution? I don’t know, I always kind of tuned out when David would start going on his rants about battles and all of that.”  
  
“That’s my favorite too.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “I actually signed up to take a couple of AP exams later this year – you know, so I could get some credits before college? And one of them is the U.S. history exam. I’m almost even excited to take that one.”  
  
“You’re excited to take an exam?”  
  
“It’s important Emma,” he said, dragging the words out dramatically. She made a face. “That’s the story of how we all got here.”  
  
“That so?”  
  
“Ask David,” he added, sounding incredibly sure of himself. “He’ll tell you.”  
  
“I have no doubt, but I am not going down that road, kid,” Emma laughed. “I’ve spent half my life listening to David wax poetic on history and I don’t know that I can agree to do it again. Even for you.”  
  
Henry laughed loudly, drawing a curious glance from Jerry behind the counter. There weren’t any other customers in Josie’s and the sound of his laughter seemed to ricochet off the walls.

She hadn’t been in the building in a few weeks – a combination of an absurdly busy schedule and the sheer determination to wallow just a little bit.

Emma brought Henry that in the afternoon without a second thought and the sound of him laughing in the middle of the empty coffee shop was enough to make her wonder why she had avoided the hot chocolate so strongly over the last few weeks.

Life went on.

It had to.

“You should ask David about the Revolution,” Emma said. “I bet he’d talk your ear off. Maybe even give you some flashcards he saved from school.”  
  
“Wasn’t that 20 years ago?” he asked, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Rough.”

“I’m mostly kidding.”  
  
“It’s the mostly that worries me,” Emma said, making a face and downing the rest of her hot chocolate. “You know Killian’s in Boston too,” she added – the words only making her chest clench _slightly_ . “That place is like chock full of history. Get him to send you a piece of the Freedom Trail or something.”  
  
“He does.”  
  
“He does what?”  
  
“Well he hasn’t actually sent a piece of the Freedom Trail yet, because I’m fairly certain that’s illegal, but he’s sent some pictures of major stuff. You know Faneuil Hall and the state house and even like the inner-workings of Fenway and stuff. That’s the coolest part. He sent me a video of the other day from behind the scoreboard, you know like back behind the Green Monster where they put the numbers up?”  
  
“I’m familiar with the Green Monster,” Emma said, unable to hide her smile completely.

“It was awesome,” Henry continued, voice speeding up the way it always did when he talked about baseball. “And, and, he promised that he’d get David Ortiz to sign something for me once spring training starts.”  
  
“Didn’t you grow up in New York? What happened to the Yankees and playing right field in the Bronx?”  
  
“That’s all still happening,” Henry said quickly and Emma smiled at his maybe – maybe – inadvertent suggestion that he was ready to suit of for the Yankees. “I’m just saying, the inside of Fenway? Super cool.”  
  
“I guess it is super cool,” Emma admitted, shrugging dramatically and working a short laugh out of Henry.

“It totally is and you know it.” 

Emma sighed and shook her head, unable to completely wipe the smile off her face.

It _was_ cool.

But it was also a whole slew of other emotions that she wasn’t particularly interested in discussing with Henry. Or anyone. Ever.

“Make sure Killian gets something from Mookie Betts too,” Emma added. “Ortiz is great, but you’ve got to make sure you get your own position too. Take advantage of that while you can.”

“I don’t want to make him do too much.”  
  
“Nah, it’s spring training,” Emma argued. “And it’s not for a couple of weeks anyway. You know Killian, I’m sure he’s got a whole list of guys he’s going to get signatures from for you.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Absolutely,” she said, not even a note of sarcasm in her voice. She _was_ certain, positive that Killian would do whatever he could to make sure Henry got all the positives of this brand-new job, especially if he couldn’t be there for winter workouts and shagging fly balls at Chelsea Piers.

Henry didn’t look too convinced.

“Ask him,” Emma said, nodding towards Henry jacket hanging on the back of the chair. “I’ll bet you another round of hot chocolate that he’s got an entire list.”

He pressed his lips together, disbelief written across his face and Emma nodded towards his jacket again. Henry sighed and twisted around in his seat, pulling his phone out and tapping quickly across the screen.

It took less than a minute for him to respond.

Emma smiled at that – he _always_ had his phone.

“What’d he say?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the table.

“He’s totally got a list,” Henry said, sounding more than a little awed. “How did you even know that?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Good guess.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her and Emma knew he didn’t believe her at all. “If you say so,” Henry said. “But I’m not an idiot and I’m not 10 years old either. I know what’s going on.”  
  
Emma eyed him – wondering what exactly she had gotten herself in to – and twisted her mouth slightly. “What are you getting at, kid?”  
  
“I know you’re upset, Emma.”  
  
Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath slowly through her nose, trying to maintain some sense of control in this very out-of-control situation. “We’re not talking about this,” she said quickly, hoping she didn’t sound as angry as she was.

Well, she amended, less angry and more frustrated – and genuinely surprised by how well this kid had read her.

“Why not?”  
  
“Because you’re 18 and this _so_ has absolutely nothing to do with you at all.”  
  
Henry crossed his arms tightly throwing his phone onto the table – he hadn’t answered Killian – and stared at Emma. “I miss Killian too,” he said evenly and Emma tried to take another deep breath. She failed.

Emma sighed and shook her head slowly. “We’re not talking about this,” she repeated and Henry groaned loudly.

“You told me that I had people now,” he said quickly, voice with a distinct edge that Emma had never heard before. “Well, shouldn’t that work both ways? Shouldn’t you get some people who want to help you too?”  
  
“I appreciate that kid, I really do, but this isn’t something we can talk about. We can talk about baseball and autographs and every American Revolution fact you can throw at me, but this is just me, ok?”  
  
Henry groaned again, but Emma could see he had given up. “Fine,” he muttered.

“So,” Emma said, trying to defuse some of the tension. “Who’s on the list?”

Henry picked up his phone again and glanced down at the screen, laughing softly to himself. “Looks like the entire Red Sox roster if I’m being honest.”  
  
“Of course it is,” Emma said softly, shaking her head and ignoring that _stupid_ thing her heart was doing. Henry grinned at her for a moment before her phone _dinged_ again. Emma’s fingers clenched at the noise – a now almost-immediate reaction to the near-constant texts she was getting from Jefferson.

“You should really answer your text messages,” Henry mumbled and Emma rolled her eyes at him, but flipped her phone over anyway.

She had almost been right – there were eight new messages, six of them were from Jefferson, one was from Ingrid, but the most recent one was from Killian.

Emma was smiling before she even realized it and glanced up to find Henry looking at her expectantly. “I answer my text messages,” Emma said, sounding as much like an 18-year-old as the one in front of her. She didn’t even read any of the eight messages on her phone before looking back at Henry. “Or, you know, I will.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“C’mon kid, I’ll buy you some hot chocolate so you won’t freeze on the train.”  
  
“But you were right about the list, that’s not how the bet works.”  
  
“You really going to argue your way out of hot chocolate?”  
  
Henry’s shoulders sagged, but there was a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. “Nah. Not when you’re buying it.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Then I’ll take hot chocolate for the train.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t answer any of Jefferson’s texts – it wasn’t the most professional thing to do, but it was also her day off and she just _couldn’t_ think about being on camera again in the next few days.

The Knicks weren’t traveling that week – unless you counted two games in Brooklyn, which Emma saw as more of a public-transit nightmare than actual travel – so Jefferson was on full-on, all-video all-the-time mode.

He hadn’t written a single column yet.

Emma wasn’t entirely convinced he actually did any editing. She was fairly positive he handed most of the stories off to Will – if the enormous bags under his eyes that had formed over the last few weeks were any indication.

Gold had been noticeably absent from all of this over the last month – reportedly spending most of his time holed up with Isaac, Sydney and George about _the future_ of _The Record_ – although Emma had heard a few rumors that Milah was making the rounds on the floors week by week. She had spent the last few days in lifestyles and – per Will’s latest round of gossip – was supposed to descend on news come February.

As far as Emma was concerned, she hoped both of the Golds stayed as far away from her desk as possible. She wasn’t quite sure what she would do if she saw Robert Gold in person – probably something stupid like try and punch him – and she had _no idea_ what to do if she met Milah.

Emma would have been content if neither one of them ever stepped on the sports floor, but she wasn’t exactly holding out hope that they wouldn’t.

She was on borrowed time and she knew it.

Her phone dinged again as she walked up the steps to the apartment and noticed it was Ingrid texting, it would seem, in all caps.

_STORYBROOKE. NEWS. BIG._

Emma made a face at the lack of proper sentence structure and tapped the call button, pushing the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she leaned down to unlock the door. Ingrid answered before it finished ringing once.

“Look who’s come out of hibernation,” she said and Emma could hear the smile in her voice.  
  
“I wasn’t hibernating,” she argued. “I was busy. Like absurdly busy.”  
  
“Well, you’re missing out on some seriously breaking news.”  
  
“That so?” Emma laughed, sliding her arms out of her coat and tossing her keys on the door side table. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Are you sitting down?”  
  
“Should I be?”

“You might want to.”  
  
“I don’t know whether to be nervous or not.”  
  
“Not. Decidedly not. It’s not a bad thing, well, not for us.”

“You’re really selling it,” Emma said, sinking into the far side of the couch. “Alright, so spill, what’s breaking?”

“Cora’s leaving office.”  
  
“No!” Emma shouted, sitting up straight and nearly ramming her knee into the coffee table. “What? When? How did this happen?”  
  
“I’m glad to see that journalism degree didn’t go to waste,” Ingrid laughed. “You hit all the high-points with your questions.”  
  
“Which you didn’t answer.”  
  
“It’s very scandalous,” Ingrid continued and Emma did her best to hold in her laugh, determined not to interrupt the story. “Money stolen and insufficient funds to repair the clock tower heading into the annual clock tower repair and something about the cost of Regina’s wedding and the movement of accounts.”  
  
“No!” Emma couldn’t stop yelling. “Are you telling me that Storybrooke, like the town itself, paid for Regina’s entire wedding?”  
  
“Well, maybe not all of it,” Ingrid said, “but rumor has it a good chunk.”  
  
“How did this happen? How did they find out?”  
  
“Something about an outside source and someone being slightly jealous of the pomp and circumstance of Regina’s wedding.”  
  
“An outside source?”  
  
“Ok, are you really sitting down for this?”

Emma nodded, well aware that Ingrid couldn’t see her. “Cora has another daughter.”  
  
“Holy shit!’  
  
“Emma!”  
  
“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling like she was 18 for the _second_ time that afternoon. “Oh my gosh?”  
  
“Better,” Ingrid said. “So, anyway, turns out Cora has another daughter and she’s _somewhere_ out there in the world and very, very angry and also able to start IRS investigations of small-town funds.”  
  
“This is the most insane story I have ever heard.”  
  
“Is it? Seems about par for the course for Storybrooke.”

“Who’s going to take over?” Emma asked, suddenly. “Like as mayor? Oh God, are they going to stage elections? Can I send in an absentee vote?”

“You can’t.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because they’ve already named a new mayor.”  
  
“Who?!”  
  
“Regina.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, sliding down the couch. “For real? How does that even happen?”

“Did you know Regina was working _for_ the town this entire time? Apparently she’s next in line before they do normal elections in November.”  
  
“Ok, scratch that, this is the most insane part of the story. Regina was working for Storybrooke the whole time?”  
  
“Haven’t you ever wondered what she _did_ for all these years?”  
  
“Almost always, but I just figured it was something big and fancy and important. Or her mom gave her money all the time.”  
  
“All of those things might still be true.”  
  
“What is Mr. Blanchard doing?” Emma asked, pushing her hair back. “He’s got to be a little surprised by all of this.”  
  
“You know, I don’t think he is, honestly,” Ingrid said slowly. “I think he’s trying to stay as uninvolved as possible.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“Exactly that, yeah.”

“I’m glad I sat down.”  
  
“I told you you should.”

“Well, thanks for looking out for me,” Emma said. “And for not stealing money from the town of Storybrooke.”  
  
“I’ve always done my best to keep up a good example for you and Elsa.”  
  
“Job well done.”  
  
Ingrid laughed into the phone and Emma leaned against the side of the couch, almost collapsing into the sound. “Thank you for the approval, Emma,” Ingrid said, still laughing as Emma’s eyes closed softly.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You know you’re the best, right?”  
  
There was silence on the phone for a moment, but it didn’t take Ingrid long to respond. “Where’d that come from?”  
  
“Nowhere special,” Emma replied evasively. If she had been sitting up, she probably would have waved her hands slightly. “I just thought you should know.”  
  
“I appreciate that.”  
  
“And you did set a good example, by the way, about, well, everything.”  
  
Ingrid was silent again and Emma felt her nerves clench in every single one of her muscles. This _had_ sort of come out of left field.

She was making sports puns on her own now.

“I love you, Emma,” Ingrid said, voice full of the kind of sincerity Emma had always wanted when she was a kid. “I just want you to be happy.”  
  
“That’s a work in progress.”  
  
“He’ll come back,” Ingrid added and Emma’s head jerked slightly.

“What?”  
  
“Killian. This isn’t going to last. I’m sure of it.”  
  
“It’s not just like some internship, Ingrid. It’s a job. A whole new life.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“You don’t sound convinced.”  
  
“That’s because I’m not,” she said, the confidence in her voice shooting through Emma’s entire body like a live wire. “It’s a feeling. Intuition or something.”  
  
“Intuition?”

“Or something,” Ingrid repeated. “I just can’t believe that a guy who would come here – before you were even _dating_ – and then drive to Storybrooke on Christmas Eve would just be willing to walk away from you.”  
  
“He’s not,” Emma argued quietly. “Not really.”  
  
“I know the semantics of it, Emma, but I’m just telling you what I think. I think he’s going to surprise you. He’s going to come back.”  
  
Emma sighed. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let herself even _think_ that.

“I know you’re not an optimist, Emma,” Ingrid continued, “but this is different. He doesn’t even want to be doing PR.”  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“So then I’ll be optimistic for both of us.”  
  
Emma made a face and tried not to sigh again – that would have been overdramatic. “Ok,” she said.

“Deal,” Ingrid responded. “I’ll keep you posted on the latest in-town developments.”  
  
“I appreciate that,” Emma smiled, curling back into the corner of the couch.

“Call some more, too.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“And the stories are fantastic. I’m proud of you, Emma.”  
  
“I know. And I appreciate that. I’ll call again later this week.”  
  
“I’ll hold you to that,” Ingrid said before hanging up the phone.

She fell asleep on the couch. Like she was 800 years old.

Emma woke up with a start and a _horrible_ crick in her neck, jerking up at the sound of her phone blasting through the empty apartment.

She briefly wondered where Mary Margaret was before remembering that she and David were at some sort of police event uptown. No wonder she had fallen asleep on the couch. The apartment was silent except for her phone and the sound seemed even louder because of it.

Emma groaned, twisting her neck until it cracked, and grabbed the offensive machine, practically glaring at it for having the audacity to wake her up.

Killian.

She had never answered the text message – overwhelmed with Storybrooke gossip and Ingrid’s optimism and the ability to sleep just about anywhere.

He was facetiming her. Emma groaned again, but swiped her finger across the screen anyway, rubbing under her eyes with the heel of her hand as she held her phone in the other.

“Hey,” she mumbled and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

“Are you in a cave, Swan?”  
  
“What?” she asked, realization dawning on her quickly. The lights were all off. “Oh, yeah, no, no, I’m not. Hold on.”

Emma stood up, dropping the phone on the couch. She heard Killian’s laughter as she jogged towards the other side of the living room and flicked on the light.

“Back,” she said, picking up her phone again and doing her best to smile at the screen. “Sorry about that.”  
  
“You were asleep,” he said – a statement not a question. Emma shrugged. He’d know if she was lying. “I can call back if you want.”  
  
“No, no, no,” Emma said quickly. “This is fine – good even. I’m glad you called.”  
  
One of his eyebrows lifted up and he smirked at her and it wasn’t even _fair_. She missed him a lot.

“I was worried.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“You, obviously.”  
  
“I’m sorry for not answering, I was doing my best to avoid my phone.”  
  
“Why?” he asked and Emma realized it was a different room than the one he’d been staying in. It was bigger. In fact, it was, quite clearly, more than one room.

“Where are you?” Emma asked, ignoring his own question entirely. “That doesn’t look like the hotel.”  
  
He’d been staying in a Red Sox-provided hotel room for the last three and a half weeks – overstaying his welcome by several days – as he tried to find some kind of apartment in downtown Boston.

It hadn’t been going well.

Emma told him he was being far too specific – determined to find the _perfect_ apartment in a matter of only a few days – but nothing had been good enough. She hadn’t pointed out that nothing would be good enough because it wasn’t his apartment five blocks away from hers – mostly because she didn’t feel like arguing.

So, the team had given him an extra two weeks in the hotel with the stipulation – demand – that he find somewhere else to live by the end of the month.

It was January 25th.

“Oh,” Killian said quickly, glancing around the room. He looked guilty. “It’s, uh, it’s not the hotel room.”

“Did they kick you out?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Emma narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. “Then where are you?”  
  
“An apartment,” he said, looking anywhere except the phone he was holding. “My apartment?”  
  
“Was that a question or a statement?”  
  
“Statement. It’s mine. Signed the lease this afternoon.”  
  
That’s what the text message was all about.

Emma raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth slightly in surprise. “Oh,” she muttered quietly, feeling her lower lip stick out slightly.

“It all happened kind of fast.”  
  
“So I can see.”  
  
“Yeah, well when you’ve got deadlines looming and all that,” he muttered, the smirk returning to his face and Emma felt some of the disappointment she had been feeling at the look of Killian’s brand-new apartment dissipate.

Some. Not all.

“You love deadlines,” she accused, making a face.

“They’re just an efficient way to get things done.”

“And, look, you did something!” she said, waving one hand in the air in mock-celebration. He laughed, running his hand through his hair.

“You want a tour?”  
  
“Sure.”

She didn’t. She wanted him to come home and come back to work and film these _stupid_ videos with her.

Emma didn’t say anything, didn’t point out that the brand-new apartment meant one very specific thing – he was putting down roots in a city that did not include her. Ingrid’s optimistic plan now seemed more improbable than ever.

Killian stood up quickly and turned, phone in hand, towards the back of the room. “So, this is mine,” he said quickly and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to sound enthusiastic. “Bedroom, window,” Emma laughed at the play-by-play of furniture and heard Killian click his tongue in disapproval. “Closet,” he continued, swinging open the door and Emma saw a small pile of clothes in the corner.

 _Her_ clothes.

“Are those my shirts?” she asked, hoping her laughter covered up the way her voice caught in her throat.

“Hmmm?”  
  
“My shirts,” Emma repeated, shaking the phone for evidence. “In your closet.”  
  
“Where else would they be?”

That brought her up short. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting them to be in your closet already.”  
  
“I’m nothing if not efficient, love.”  
  
“So I can see.”

He made some sort of noise in the back of his throat and walked down the hallway towards the living room. “It’s big,” Emma commented, taking in the small phone-provided view of the large area and _enormous_ window that looked out on Boston Harbor.

Emma let out a low whistle and Killian chuckled softly at her reaction. “I figured if I’m going to be in Boston, I might as well do it right. I’ve always kind of wanted to live by the water.”  
  
“Your apartment _looked_ at the East River.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m basically living in the ocean now, Swan.”  
  
“Is that the ocean?”  
  
“Some of it.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway,” Killian continued, turning the phone towards the kitchen off the side of the living room and the enormous island in the middle. It looked a bit overwhelming without anything on it and the granite – was that _granite_ – practically gleamed. “That’s the kitchen.”  
  
“I never would have realized.”  
  
“Swan.”  
  
“Killian.”

He flipped the camera back around and Emma stuttered slightly at the look he shot her, a mixture between amusement, disbelief and – maybe – disappointment. That was when she noticed the small stack of newspapers sitting just behind him in the corner of the kitchen.

“Are you hoarding things already, Cap?” she asked, turning the camera back on herself so he could _see_ her sarcasm. He grimaced at her.

“Swan,” he repeated, drawing the four letters into one ridiculously long sigh. Emma’s face settled into some sort of neutral – and she hoped, innocent – look and shrugged. Killian sighed and shook his head, hand firmly back in his hair. “No, I’m not hoarding. I am buying.”  
  
“Buying…”  
  
“Newspapers, obviously.”  
  
“ _Globe_ ? _Herald_ ?”  
  
“ _Record_ .”  
  
“What? Really?”  
  
Killian nodded slowly and sank onto a seat in the living room – Emma briefly wondered how he already had furniture and then remembered that the entire Red Sox organization was involved and probably made sure he’d signed on to a fully-furnished apartment.

“Really,” he said.

“Why?”  
  
“Can’t seem to bring myself not to,” he said softly, like he was admitting to something heinous. “And I’ve been reading your stuff.”  
  
“You can do that on the internet.”  
  
“It’s better in print.”  
  
“My writing is better in print?”  
  
Killian shrugged and Emma felt her hand ghost over the ring underneath her shirt – just out of the phone-camera frame – as she did her best to smile. “Your writing is _fantastic_ no matter what,” he said quickly. “But I like seeing your byline.”  
  
“You’re stalking me aren’t you?” she asked. He picked up on the teasing tone of her voice quickly and narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve figured me out, Swan. That’s what I’ve been doing this whole time. The long con, as it were, just to ensure my continued stalking.”  
  
“That’s devious.”

“Dastardly.”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. “I can’t come up with anymore adjectives that start with ‘d.’”

“Capped out at two, huh?”  
  
“It’s been a long day. And you did wake me up.”  
  
“I’m sorry about that Swan, although I am glad you got at least _some_ sleep.”  
  
“It’s been getting kind of better.”  
  
“Yeah?”

“Kind of.” Emma’s hand was now gripping the ring, pulling the chain out from under her shirt and holding the metal band tightly in her hand. “You been ok?”  
  
“Of course, love,” he said quickly. Lie. “I’m always fine.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“So,” he said pointedly, turning the conversation from the wallowing Emma was certain it was headed to. She appreciated that. “I’ve noticed something. In my stalking, as it were.”  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
“The New York Knickerbockers play the Boston Celtics in two weeks.”  
  
Emma felt the smile creep across her face and tugged on the chain again. “That’s true,” she confirmed. “Rumor has it they’re actually playing _in_ Boston.”  
  
“I’d picked up on that as well.”  
  
“Practically an investigative journalist.”  
  
Killian made a face and Emma kept smiling. “PR specialist,” he corrected.

“Specialist? Is that a new addition to the title?”  
  
“You’re distracting me, Swan. And yes.”  
  
Emma twisted her face into something that resembled _impressed_ and raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“It would make my stalking just a bit easier if we were in the same city, love,” he said, eyes flashing up at her. _God_ , she had missed the banter and the flirting. And _him_ . Mostly him. “It would open up my whole schedule.”  
  
“Should I be trying to make things easier for my stalker?”  
  
“Fair,” he agreed. “But maybe a bit easier for your boyfriend and a guy who loves you a bordering on ridiculous amount?”  
  
“That so?”

Emma’s entire body was on fire. Or melting. Or both. It didn’t matter.

“Absolutely,” Killian answered. “I have an apartment now, you see, and you wouldn’t need a hotel. I’m sure Jefferson the new sports editor would love to know he didn’t have to pay for a hotel.”  
  
“You want me to tell Jefferson the new sports editor that I’m staying with you instead?”  
  
“Why not?” he shrugged. “We’re not breaking _any_ rules now. Not even coming close.”  
  
“The office will implode.”  
  
“I’m just disappointed I won’t be there to see it.”  
  
“No,” Emma objected. “You’ll be in Boston.”  
  
“With you. In two weeks.”  
  
“So confident,” she muttered, shaking her head.  
  
“In you, love, always,” Killian responded easily. “Tell Jefferson whatever you want, Swan, I honestly don’t care. But you’ll be here and I’ll be here and you could spend an extra day here if you wanted.”  
  
“You’ve got a plan,” Emma accused.

“I’ve been thinking about this a bit. Stalking rules and whatnot. I’ve got to pine over you non-stop and try to woo you with date ideas in a city you hate.”  
  
“I will have to work at least a little bit, you know.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that, Swan. But you’d at least be here. I promise to feed you at least once, make sure you get _some_ sleep and kiss you until you can’t see straight.”  
  
“That a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll tell Jefferson not to book the hotel,” she said quietly and it seemed like his entire body relaxed on that tiny phone screen. He looked back up at her, blue eyes meeting hers and smiled so wide that Emma’s breath hitched.

“Good.”  
  
“Kathryn’s going to lose her mind.”  
  
“I expect a direct play-by-play of the conversation as it happens.”  
  
“More like an ambush.”

“I know, love,” Killian laughed softly. “And I’m sorry you’ll have to face that on your own. But if there’s anyone who can deal with Kathryn, it’s you.”  
  
“So much misplaced confidence.”

“Someday you’re going to believe me.”  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
“Get some sleep, Swan. It’s almost late.”  
  
“I’ve been busy,” she argued, trying to maintain some of her pride after falling asleep on the couch.

“I know, love. I know. I’m the one buying all the newspapers after all.”  
  
“Stalker,” she said once more, smiling through through the insult. “Oh, hey, tomorrow, remind me to tell you about all the Storybrooke gossip Ingrid updated me on today.”  
  
“Granny poison someone?”  
  
“Of course not, but it’s just as dramatic.”  
  
“You’re a gossip tease, Swan.”  
  
“I’m just trying to make sure you come back for tomorrow’s conversation.”  
  
He stared at her for a moment, eyes going serious for a second and Emma wondered what she’d said to warrant _that_ kind of look. “You don’t have to ply me with smalltown gossip, Swan. I’d come back no matter what.”  
  
Emma felt some kind of _rush_ of something move down from her heart to the pit of her stomach and she bit her lip tightly – mind wandering to Ingrid’s intuition from hours before.

Maybe he would come back.

Or maybe she’d go to Boston in two weeks and have a few days of actual sleep and that would be enough. For now.

“I love you,” she said, whole body practically pulsing with emotion.

“I love you too, Swan. Get some rest.”  
  
“I’ve got to film again tomorrow, but I should be done around five-ish.”  
  
He nodded once. “I shouldn't be done too much later than that. I’m a proper 9-to-5’iver now, so I’ll call you later.”  
  
“Good.”

Emma woke up the next morning with a blanket wrapped over her – courtesy of Mary Margaret, post-date – and Killian’s ring in her hand.

* * *

It spread like wildfire.

Emma had taken no less than two steps out of Jefferson’s office – a week after her conversation with Killian – telling him that she didn’t need a room in Boston because she had a _friend_ to stay with, before she felt six different pairs of eyes stare at her in the middle of the sports office.

 _God_.

Will raised his eyebrows as Emma walked back towards her desk and smiled.

“What?” she spat.

“Nothing,” he replied evenly, shrugging slightly. “Nothing at all.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“I haven’t said a single word at all, Emma,” Will continued.

Emma eyed him, one side of her mouth pulled up. “Sure,” she said, walking back to her desk to find Kathryn already standing there. Emma groaned and rolled her head between her shoulders, steeling herself slightly.

Her hand tugged on the chain quickly and she pushed the ring back under her shirt quickly – _that_ was a conversation she certainly didn’t want to have with anyone on _The New York Record_ payroll.

“How did you get down here so fast?” Emma asked, ignoring Kathryn’s wide-eyed stare and sliding into her chair.

“James sent several people messages. He can hear just about everything that goes on in that office since his desk is only a few feet away.”  
  
Emma shut her eyes softly and shook her head. Of course. Her phone made a nose and Emma glanced down at the screen, reading the teased message there.

_Deep breaths, Swan. Tell Kathryn to stick her nose…._

She smiled again – Will must have texted him. Figured.

“So,” Emma continued, sighing over the two letters. “You’re getting your information from James now? No more Walsh updates?”  
  
Kathryn stared at her – something flashing in her eyes and Emma actually thought it was frustration – before answering. “I’m just talking to my friends, Emma.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And I hear you’re going to be staying with one of _your_ friends when you go to Boston next week.”

“You’re going to have to explain how that is any of your business.”

“I knew it!” Kathryn yelled, making Emma jump slightly. “I knew it! I knew you were dating him! This whole time.”  
  
“Congratulations,” Emma spit out, venom in her voice. She could feel the anger pulsing in all four of her limbs and wouldn’t have been surprised if there had actually been sparks shooting out of her fingers.

“How long?”  
  
“Going to need a few more words.”  
  
“How long have you been dating?”  
  
Emma groaned, but didn’t tell Kathryn to shut up. She didn’t disagree or argue or do anything except shake her head slowly. This was going to end now, absurd gossip be damned.

“A couple of months,” Emma said.

“So you were _together_ at the party then? When I asked you?”  
  
Emma nodded and Kathryn screamed again, hands clapped dramatically over her face. “What is your deal?” Emma hissed. “This is not that exciting, I promise. It doesn’t even involve you. I don’t understand everyone’s fascination.”  
  
“It is a big deal, Emma! Killian was a big deal.” Emma tried not to roll her eyes again and Kathryn continued, hands moving quickly in front of her. “You’re going to stay with him in Boston?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I mean, that’s why you’re down here right?”  
  
“I’d really love to hear it straight from you.”

“Yes,” Emma said suddenly, surprising herself a bit. “I am. I am staying at Killian’s apartment and we’ve been dating for months and everyone at this entire stupid newspaper can talk about it now. I honestly don’t care anymore.”  
  
Kathryn made a face, stunned silent by Emma’s rather emotional declaration. “Emma,” she said slowly. “I can’t believe you.”

“Why?”  
  
“After all those months of asking and _knowing_ – you two weren’t exactly doing a very good job hiding anything, long stares across the sports floor and disappearing to God knows where for that one weekend.”  
  
“Maine,” Emma interjected quickly.

Kathryn shook her head dismissively. “You kept telling me nothing was going on! And everything was going on!”  
  
“I’m going to repeat myself one more time here,” Emma said slowly. “That wasn’t any of your business. It’s barely any of your business now, but things are different now. Talk about it, don’t talk about it. Like I said, I don’t care what the rest of this paper does. I’m happy. Killian’s happy. That’s all there is to it.”

Emma huffed and stared at Kathryn, waiting for some kind of witty retort. It never came. Instead, Kathryn just looked a little stunned.

“Look at you,” she muttered.

“Look at me what?”  
  
“All defensive about your relationship.”  
  
“I’m not defensive,” Emma groaned. “You’ve finally got your story now Kathryn. Go tell everyone who’ll listen, I’m sure you’re dying to.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m _dying_. I don’t know, it’s not quite as interesting now that there’s no scandal involved. It’s not like he’s your boss anymore.”

Emma laughed sardonically, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course. They weren’t news anymore.

At least not to Kathryn.

Apparently living in two different cities and dealing with new owners and ex-love interests and all those pesky _emotions_ wasn’t interesting enough.

Everyone knew now and not many people cared.

“Are you done now, Kathryn?” Emma asked, not even caring what she sounded like. “Because I’ve actually got some work to do and media availabilities to get to. So if we’re finished talking about my relationship, I’d like to get back to that.”  
  
“Sure,” Kathryn said quickly, glancing around the office floor – likely looking for the next gossip tidbit to pick up – before she walked away from Emma’s desk without another word.

Emma rolled her eyes again and leaned forward to grab her phone, swiping open the message and reading the rest of it.

 _Deep breaths, Swan. Tell Kathryn to stick her nose where it actually belongs. And find something more interesting to talk about than us_.

She smiled at her phone and started typing back quickly.

 **Turns out we’re not all that interesting anymore** **.** Her phone dinged back almost immediately.

 _That so_ , he wrote, _What changed?  
_ _  
_ **You’re not my boss anymore. There’s no scandal. No scandal means no gossip.**

_I have to admit I’m a little disappointed._

**Of course you are. Because you didn’t have to deal with it.**

Her phone rang two seconds later. “Hey,” Emma muttered.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with it, Swan.”  
  
“I told you, I didn’t really. They don’t seem to care much, honestly. I think everyone _knew_ already. Even Jefferson didn’t seem particularly surprised when I told him that I didn’t need a hotel.”  
  
“What did you tell him exactly?” Killian laughed.

“That I was staying with a friend.”

He laughed again, the sound of it making Emma smile before she could think about it. She leaned back against her chair and pulled her hair over her shoulder, making sure it didn’t get caught in the chain around her neck.

“I was trying to make sure I didn’t start some sort of gossip hailstorm,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize no one would care.”

“I care,” he answered, still laughing slightly. “For whatever that’s worth.”  
  
“Eh...it’s enough,” Emma teased and – not for the first time – she wished he was back there, leaning on her desk and smirking at her.

“At least tell me that you told Jefferson you were staying with an _important_ friend.” Emma groaned. “I’d even settle for one of your best friends, Swan, if we’re going to go with titles like that.”  
  
“First of all, you’ll have to fight M’s for that title. And, second of all, we both know that I only said that to make things less awkward. Jefferson one hundred percent knew that I was talking about you.”

“I appreciate the effort to make things as not-awkward as possible, love. But we both know that Mary Margaret would win that duel every single time.”  
  
“True,” Emma admitted. “Although I think you’d make a valiant effort.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
“So you’re really ok with this?”  
  
“This being?”  
  
“Everyone knowing that I’m staying in your apartment next weekend.”  
  
“It was my idea, Swan,” he pointed out.  
  
“I’m just double checking.”  
  
“No need, love,” Killian said. “It was my idea and, like you said, I don’t think we were really fooling that many people.”  
  
“Not so great at the whole under the radar thing.”  
  
“Eh, it’s the thought that counts.”  
  
“I’m not sure if that sentiment really works in this particular situation.”  
  
“It’s the thought that counts,” he repeated, drawing a laugh out of Emma.

“I’ll give you that one,” she admitted. “But only because you’re my friend.”  
  
“That’s all I ask.”

“Hey, did you happen to look at a calendar next week?” Emma asked.

“What about it?”  
  
“It’s Valentine’s Day.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“And that’s something you were aware of?”  
  
“I was, but I kind of figured…” he trailed off, and Emma knew _exactly_ what he was going to say. She wouldn’t care. She didn’t. Really. Just the irony of spending her first weekend in Boston since her time at the house landing on Valentine’s Day weekend with her brand-new boyfriend wasn’t lost on her. At all.

“No, you’re right,” she added quickly. “I was just pointing out. I’m going to be M’s and David’s third wheel on Friday night.”  
  
“I highly doubt that’s what they’re considering it.”  
  
“Happens every year. We do a thing the night before Valentine’s Day and they do their own thing on the actual holiday or whatever it is.”  
  
“You are chock-full of tradition, Swan.”  
  
She almost told him that she wished she could include him in all of these _ridiculous_ friendship traditions, but she didn’t because that would require her to actually talk about things like that and Emma had done more than enough of that for one afternoon.

“I’ve got to go to go to availability,” Emma said instead, grabbing a pen and forcing it into her ponytail. “I’ll talk to you later?”  
  
“Of course. I was supposed to be in a meeting three minutes ago, so I should probably show up.”  
  
“The professionalism is astounding.”  
  
“It was my meeting, love. They can’t do anything until I’m there anyway.”  
  
“Good to see the ego hasn’t taken a hit since the move.”  
  
“Never.”

“Bye, Killian.”  
  
“Bye, Swan.”

* * *

Mary Margaret looked _gorgeous_.

Emma would have argued that this was always the case, but in this particular instance, it almost seemed a bit superfluous. Because her best friend looked perfect.

Something was going on.

“Aren’t we just going to dinner?” Emma asked, gaping at Mary Margaret in the mirror before glancing down self consciously at her own dress. She wasn’t meeting the apparent dress code of the evening.

“David just told me to look ‘nice,’” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Whatever that means.”  
  
Something was _definitely_ going on.

“He didn’t say why?” Emma asked, tugging a bit on the waistline of her outfit. Mary Margaret shook her head. “Do you think I should maybe bow out?”

Mary Margaret looked stunned, spinning around to look at Emma and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Why would you do that?”  
  
“You look fantastic,” Emma said, as if that completely explained everything that was going on in her mind.

“Thanks. So do you.”  
  
“Nuh uh. You are like other level right now. Like straight up Her Royal Highness Mary Margaret of Storybrooke, status.”  
  
“Where exactly are you going with this?”  
  
“I have a few suspicions,” Emma said warily.

“Such as?”  
  
“Where’s David?”  
  
“You’re suspicious of David?”  
  
“Maybe. That didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“He’s in the living room.” Emma didn’t say anything else, didn’t even acknowledge Mary Margaret’s answer before turning on her heels and walking down the hallway.

David was, in fact, sitting in the living room, slumped in the corner of the couch a vaguely nervous look on his face. He looked like he was going to be sick. Emma dropped down next to him, resting her still-bare feet on the edge of the coffee table and flicking his arm. He jumped and shot Emma a glare.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked pointedly.

David just actually looked green. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

“You’re a very overdressed liar. Why didn’t you tell me to dress up?”  
  
“You are dressed up.”

“Not like M’s.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Emma nodded and smiled at the slight crack in David’s voice. She hadn’t heard that in _years_ – not since he came to pick Mary Margaret up for prom and was terrified because Mr. Blanchard had made him promise to be home by midnight.

“I told her she looked like a princess.”

“That is awfully sentimental for you, Emma,” David laughed, turning his head towards her and smiling. He looked a little less nauseous now.

“More honest than anything,” Emma shrugged. “Something I know for a fact that you aren’t being.”  
  
“I hate that lie detector test you have.”  
  
“You love it. You wish it worked for the New York Police Department.”  
  
“And have Mary Margaret worry about you too? Absolutely not.”  
  
“I know you’ve got a plan.”  
  
“And what if I do?” Emma looked at him, raising her eyebrows in silent question. “Because maybe I do,” David added.

Emma smiled, trying to settle into the role of supportive friend as she ignored the ball of anxiety she could feel forming in the pit of stomach – and maybe right in the middle of her heart. “I kind of figured you had a plan,” she said. “And you’re sure you want me to be part of that plan?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“Seems like the epitome of third wheel.”  
  
“You’ve never once been that Emma and you know it.”

Emma sighed and shook her head. “I’m only going to come if you want me there.”  
  
“I do. And so would Mary Margaret. You know, once she realizes, what’s going on.”  
  
“Don’t do something stupid like put it in the dessert or anything ok?”  
  
“I promise not to put the ring in the dessert,” David promised. “If only because my mother would kill me. It is an antique after all.”  
“Of course.”

David smiled at her – he didn’t even look remotely nervous anymore. “I’m going to let Mary Margaret know we’ve got to go. We’ll miss our reservation otherwise.”  
  
“Sure.”

Emma watched him walk away and took a deep breath, wondering exactly how she was going to do this. Everything was going to change and – out of all the things she hated – Emma hated change the most.

David was going to propose to Mary Margaret.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am completely floored by how wonderful every single one of you are. I smile at every click, comment and kudos and I can't say how much it all means to me. Feel free to come flail with me on Tumblr: http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/. I'm always down to flail.


	42. Chapter 42

The restaurant was absurdly fancy. Emma tried to turn her laugh into a cough as they walked in and Mary Margaret gasped quietly next to her.

“What is going on?” she asked, tugging on David’s shirt sleeve. “This isn’t supposed to be the  _ fancy _ night.”  
  
Emma laughed out loud at that. “Oh my God, M’s, you did not just call your date the ‘fancy night’”

“What else am I supposed to call it?”  
  
“A date. Obviously.”  
  
“Guys,” David said quickly, pushing on both of their backs slightly. “You’ve got to actually walk into the restaurant. We’ve got a reservation.”  
  
Emma made a significant face at Mary Margaret and muttered  _ fancy _ at her, earning a rather dramatic sigh. They walked in anyway and David moved towards the maitre de, talking about something that vaguely sounded like it included the words  _ the plan _ . 

“You know something,” Mary Margaret accused. 

“I know absolutely nothing,” Emma objected. “Or mostly nothing.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”  
  
“It’s nothing, M’s.”   
  
“Mostly nothing.”   
  
“Come on,” David whined, glancing over his shoulder as they were led to their table. This was an absurdly fancy restaurant. Emma wondered quickly how David was actually planning on affording this – and, for one terrifying moment, thought she might actually have to pay for her part of this dinner – but he shot her a confident look, almost as if he was reading her mind. 

She supposed it was easier to pay for the fancy dinner when you didn’t have to pay for the ring. 

There was a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket that Emma was  _ certain _ was silver when they finally sat down at the table. Mary Margaret kept trying to catch her eye, but Emma kept her gaze trained firmly at her hands in her lap. 

Mary Margaret would be able to read her and Emma was not about to mess this up. 

David would  _ kill _ her if she did. 

Some member of the wait staff poured them champagne and Emma drank half her glass in one gulp. David coughed pointedly and she put the glass back on the table, making a face. 

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Mary Margaret said, voice matching the exasperated look on her face perfectly. 

“Nothing,” Emma and David said in unison. That didn’t help their cause. 

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in disbelief. “You’re both big, fat, liars. You know that right?”  
  
“I resent that implication, M’s,” Emma muttered, taking another drink of champagne.

“David,” she continued, staring at him. 

“What?”   
  
“You going to continue to lie to me or you going to tell me what is going on?” He opened his mouth to answer her – likely to say  _ nothing _ again – but Mary Margaret held up her hand. “If you say the word ‘nothing’ to me again David Michael Nolan, I will stab you in the arm with this very expensive salad fork.”   
  
Emma laughed – loudly and embarrassingly in this very expensive restaurant – and did her best to diffuse the situation. “No need to resort to violence, M’s,” she said quickly, glancing at David, who looked very nervous again. “How’s your dad doing? You haven’t said since the coup.”   
  
“It’s not a coup if it’s just another member of the same family taking over power,” Mary Margaret pointed out, eyes not leaving David’s face for a moment.

“That’s true. But, my question still stands, how’s your dad?”   
  
“Fine. He’s fine. You know who might not be fine though?”

Emma shrugged and bit her lip. This was not going according to plan. She wasn’t entirely certain what the plan was, but she was fairly positive this wasn’t it.  “Who?”  
  
“You and David if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”   
  
No wonder Mary Margaret was such a good teacher – no one would ever dare break one of her rules. Emma looked at David again – now appearing almost in pain, slumping slightly in his very expensive restaurant chair – and he shook his head slowly. 

Emma did her best to be encouraging. 

“Alright,” he said quietly, sitting up a bit straighter, like he was trying to muster some courage. “You want to do this now? We can do this now.”   
  
“Do what now?” Mary Margaret asked. “You’re not telling me what’s going on.”

David stood up quickly and raised his hand to  _ someone _ on the other side of the restaurant. There was, suddenly, music in the background and Emma bit her lip tightly – mostly not to laugh, but also to stop herself from crying. 

It was cheesy and romantic and absurdly over-the-top. It was also so David and Mary Margaret, Emma could hardly believe this hadn’t happened before. 

“What is happening?” Mary Margaret asked, slowly and softly. She knew. She just didn’t quite believe it yet. 

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, gripping it tightly in his hand. He pushed the chair out of the way forcefully – Emma was nervous he was actually going to knock it over – and kneeled down in one quick motion, that always seemed much longer in movies. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened – as big as saucers – and Emma totally  _ wasn’t _ crying. Allergies. Or something. In this absurdly fancy restaurant. 

“So, I kind of had a plan,” David said, looking up from his position on the floor. “But you’re also kind of impatient, so we’re deviating from the plan a little bit.”   
  
“I’m not impatient,” Mary Margaret objected. “I just wanted to know what was going on.”   
  
“Well, what is going on, if you haven’t figured out quite yet, is me asking you to marry me.”   
  
Mary Margaret sighed and Emma rubbed at her cheeks furiously, ignoring the mess of emotions she was practically drowning in.  “Are you asking?” Mary Margaret said softly, tears falling down her cheeks as well. 

“I figured the kneeling was a give away.”  
  
Mary Margaret tilted her head and David laughed softly, snapping open the ring box and earning another sigh as the light shone off the stone. “Is that…” Mary Margaret asked, slowly. 

“My grandmother’s ring,” David answered, nodding. “Yeah. I, uh, I asked my mom for it when we were home for Christmas.”

“You’ve had that since Christmas?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“And you’re only asking now?”   
  
David made some sort of noise that vaguely sounded like  _ disbelief _ and Emma practically guffawed on the other side of the table. “M’s!” she hissed, nodding towards David who was still very much on the floor. 

“Mary Margaret,” David said, seizing back control of the situation. “Can I ask now?”   
  
“Sure.”   
  
“I’ve wanted you to have this ring since I was 17 and I realized you were the most important person in the world. And the _ only _ person in the world who could probably deal with me for the rest of time. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks because I’ve been trying to work up the courage to actually do this. And also because I couldn’t get a reservation here until now.”   
  
“I didn’t need a reservation.”   
  
“You deserved one.”   
  
Mary Margaret’s shoulders drooped and she was bordering dangerously close to weeping now. Emma couldn’t really breathe. 

“Mary Margaret,” David said, those earlier nerves all but gone in his voice. “Will you marry me?”

“What do you think?”

David opened his mouth – no doubt to request a slightly more concrete answer – but Mary Margaret didn’t give him the chance. She leaned forward and yanked on the front of his jacket, pulling him back up and standing to meet him. 

And then she threw her arms around him and kissed him. 

Emma absolutely  _ did not _ cry. 

She might have wept a bit. 

But she didn’t cry. 

The entire restaurant exploded into applause and Emma was certain neither one of her friends heard any of it, far too wrapped up in each other and their own happiness to care. And Emma was happy for them. 

She absolutely was. 

She was also something else – it wasn’t jealous, not really. It was more worried. Worried about what happened now. And where she would live once Mary Margaret and David got married. And what would happen to the three musketeers when two of them were legally tied to each other for the rest of their lives. 

* * *

Emma made it through dinner with a – almost entirely genuine – smile on her face and she even posed for the photo of the three of them with Mary Margaret holding up the ring in the middle.

But then she got home. 

And she walked into her room by herself and Emma was hit with such an incredible feeling of loneliness that she nearly buckled at the knees. 

She was the worst friend in the world. 

She couldn’t stay in that apartment, not that night, not when everything was going to change and she was terrified of being left on the outside looking in when it came to friends who loved each other and a boyfriend who didn’t live five blocks away anymore. 

So, Emma did what she did best – she left a note on the counter and she ran, she was just a bit surprised by where she ended up. 

It was nearly four in the morning by the time she stepped out of the cab and pressed the buzzer, belatedly hoping it was the right apartment. 

No one answered at first and Emma pressed the button again, grimacing slightly at the noise in the background. 

It was incredibly late. Or early. 

There was silence for a few more moments before Emma heard a voice on the other end. “What?” he snapped through the intercom. 

“Hey,” she said, too tired to come up with another word. 

“Swan?”

Killian sounded much more awake now. Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth and nodded, knowing full-well he couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said. “Hey. Again.”

The buzzer sounded quickly and Emma yanked open the door, hitting the elevator button. He had told her what floor –  _ God,  _ what was the floor. Six. It was totally six. She hoped it was six. 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open slowly and Emma looked up, coming face-to-face with a very shirtless, very pants-less, underwear-only Killian Jones. 

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Emma asked, standing stock still in the elevator. 

“Why are you here?”  
  
“Didn’t answer my question.”   
  
“Didn’t answer mine.”   
  
Emma sighed. “David and Mary Margaret got engaged. Like a couple of hours ago.”   
  
Killian blinked at her for three seconds before taking a step towards her, half in the elevator and half out, before he kissed her softly, letting the ends of her hair fall through his fingers before his hand landed on the ring underneath her shirt. 

He pulled away and smiled at her – and it was so absurdly  _ nice  _ that Emma almost started to weep again. Killian reached his hand up and grabbed her bag off her shoulder, slinging it over his own and lacing Emma’s fingers with his. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “I missed you.”  
  
Emma closed her eyes softly, smiling and realizing she had run  _ exactly _ where she belonged. 

* * *

“You’re not a bad person, you know,” Killian said softly.

Emma jerked slightly, rolling onto her back and silently wondering how he had even realized she was awake. “You were breathing faster than normal,” he said, meeting her gaze easily. He still hadn’t put a shirt on. Or pants. “I was nervous you were going to start hyperventilating.”  
  
“That’s weird.”   
  
“Romantic.”   
  
“Tell yourself that.”

“I’m pretty certain I just told you that.”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, head flopping back on the pillow dramatically. Killian grinned at her. “You going to actually tell me why you showed up on my doorstep at four this morning? Or should I try and figure that out too?”   
  
“If you can figure out when I wake up and when I don’t, then I bet you can figure this one out too.”   
  
“I’d like to actually hear it from you.”   
  
“Not happy to see me?” Emma was – mostly – teasing, but she wasn’t sure Killian had picked up on the joke. He stared at her, eyes serious – and  _ absurdly  _ blue – and pushed his lips together tightly. 

“That is not even close to what is happening,” he said slowly, hand trailing up her thigh and giving her goosebumps. 

“What is happening?”   
  
“You’re not telling me why you’re here,” he muttered, lips ghosting over her jaw. Emma bit back a sigh. “Although I am very glad that you are here.”   
  
“Yeah?” she said breathlessly – embarrassingly breathless. 

“I could prove it if you want.”

Emma felt like she had an electric current running through every single one of her veins – and maybe her arteries, she wasn’t very good at biology – and bit her lip tightly. “That does sound good,” she said softly.

He smirked at her and raised one eyebrow slowly. “Just good?”   
  
“You’re the one who wanted answers.”   
  
“So give ‘em.”   
  
“Right now?” Emma sighed. He moved his hand and pulled his face back, both eyebrows up now and that absolutely ridiculous smirk practically plastered on his face. 

“If you want.” She  rolled her eyes, but she gasped when h is fingers trailed back up her body and toyed with the chain around her neck, moving the ring up and down slowly as he lifted his eyes back up at her. “You’re a bit all over the place this morning, aren’t you love?”  
  
“I’m tired.”  
  
“You can go back to sleep you know,” he said. “You don’t have to be to the Garden until later, right?”   
  
“We should probably talk.”   
  
He made a face, twisting his mouth slightly in impressed surprise. “Emma Swan willing to talk? What’s the occasion?”   
  
“David and M’s got engaged.”   
  
“And you ended up here.”

“That ok?” Emma asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”   
  
Emma tried to shrug, something that proved rather difficult while still laying down – not to mention Killian’s hand firmly resting on her collarbone. 

“I don’t know,” she said tensely. “Just making sure. It was early. Or late. You know, depending on your point of view.”   
  
“My point of view is that I wanted you here,” Killian answered, tugging lightly on the chain as if to prove his point. “No matter what time it is. I’m just worried about you.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
That eyebrow needed to stop. He needed to stop. “Swan,” he said strongly, tugging again. “Eventually you’re going to have to believe that I actually want you around, indefinitely. I don’t want you to run – from anything – but if you are, I’m pretty happy to have you running towards me.”   
  
Emma pushed her head farther into the pillow, trying not to swoon so early in the morning. Instead she pulled her body closer to Killian’s and wrapped her hand around his neck, resting her forehead on his. 

“I just...wanted you.”   
  
His answering smile would have stopped traffic in the middle of Times Square. “You can’t just say things like that, Swan,” he muttered, repeating the words she had told him so many times. 

“Why not?”   
  
“Because I’ll never let you out of bed.”

Emma’s stomach flipped and she tried to move her body farther into the mattress. She failed. Instead, she just pushed her legs up against Killian's, working a groan out of him that  _ her _ considering staying in bed all day.

“Swan,” he said sharply, grabbing her thigh. “You’ve got to stop that if you actually want to talk.”  
  
“We could talk later.”   
  
He shook his head against the pillow. “Nuh huh. You offered to talk. I’m seizing this opportunity when I can.”   
  
“I told you, they got engaged.”   
  
“You know,” he said slowly. “I seem to remember having this conversation with you months ago, love. We talked about the ring and the engagement and that whole idea of some sort of future.”   
  
“And now it’s happening.”   
  
“The future’s not anything to be afraid of, Swan.”   
  
“I’m not a big fan of change.”   
  
“Nothing is changing.”   
  
“Everything is changing,” Emma cried, nearly yelling the words in his face. “And I am not coping very well. I was mad, Killian. I was actually mad about them getting engaged! My two best friends in the entire world, the people who have been with me through  _ everything _ and I was mad about their happiness.  They followed me to New York. They made sure I had friends in Storybrooke. M’s refuses to let me starve and I was mad that she was going to get married and leave me.”  
  
“Mary Margaret isn’t leaving you,” he objected. “David isn’t either.”   
  
“It feels like that.”   
  
“You’re allowed to be upset, Swan. It isn’t surprising that you are.”   
  
“I am a horrible person.”

“As previously mentioned, you are not a horrible person.” 

“I really was mad.”   
  
“I know you were, love,” Killian said, toying with the ends of Emma’s hair again. “But it’s not going to all be bad just because it’s changing.”   
  
“I’ve yet to experience a change that  _ isn’t _ bad.”   
  
Killian sighed and Emma knew he realized what she meant – she was dancing around him and them and other changes she wasn’t particularly coping with very well. 

“Mary Margaret would understand,” he continued. “She’s probably texted you ten times already, wondering where you went and making sure you’re ok.”   
  
“I left a note.”   
  
“Ten text messages at least.”   
  
“Yeah probably,” Emma admitted. 

“They’re not going to kick you out of their lives.”   
  
“But they’re going to have lives.”   
  
“I don’t follow.”   
  
Emma bit her tongue forcefully, hard enough to hurt – so she wouldn’t say something that she’d regret. Like divulge deep, personal information and childhood fears that had lingered for the last 28 years of her life. 

It hurt. 

Her tongue and the worries.

“I think we’ve moved well beyond the secrets stages, don’t you?” Killian asked, one side of his mouth pulled into a sad smile. “You can talk to me.”   
  
“I don’t know that you really want to know.”   
  
His hand dropped back to the ring around her neck – like he was reminding her what he’d given her, what he had shared and  _ promised _ – and Emma got a bit of courage she didn’t ever think she’d have. 

She nodded once, psyching herself up and started to talk.

“They’re going to get married and get an apartment and maybe move out of Manhattan. And they’ll settle into  _ lives _ , real lives, picture-perfect lives that’ll have kids and PTA meetings and M’s will bake for every occasion. And it’ll be so painfully adorable and wonderful. It’s all going to happen.  That’s what they’ve been waiting for their entire lives. David told M’s he knew he wanted to marry her when he was 17. Seventeen, can you even imagine?”  
  
“I was a bit preoccupied with baseball when I was 17,” Killian answered, smiling softly at Emma. “Can’t say I was planning a wedding.”   
  
“They were! Or at least considering it. Because they knew. They knew then that this is what their lives would end up.”   
  
“I’m missing the part where this makes you a horrible person, Swan. Or where it’s something I wouldn’t want to know.”   
  
“I’m jealous,” Emma admitted softly, the words cutting into her heart. She grimaced at him, eyes meeting Killian’s slowly. “So jealous my whole body hurts. That’ll happen for them because that’s who David and M’s are, but that’s not who I am.”   
  
“You don’t know that,” Killian answered. His hands hadn’t stopped moving once, tracing over every inch of her skin as if he were trying to keep her talking.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”   
  
“You’re very certain. Things happen, love, change happens, but it isn’t always bad. And just because Mary Margaret and David have settled into  _ their _ lives, doesn’t mean you automatically have to settle into yours.”

“You’re missing my point,” Emma said, straining over every single syllable. Killian shrugged. “I want that life. I want that with...it doesn’t matter. It won’t happen.”   
  
Emma’s breath stuttered in her throat for a moment – she had almost said  _ I want that with you _ , before cutting herself off. Killian stared at her speculatively, waiting for her to continue and sighing slightly when she didn’t. 

“Nothing’s set in stone, love.”

“Feels like it.”

Killian sighed again and Emma could see the realization hit him. “Hey,” he said softly, lifting her chin up with his thumb. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you here. Just about always.”

“Just about?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t want to come off as an overly emotional stalker.”

Emma let out a laugh – mixed with much more emotion than she was expecting this early in the morning or this soon after waking up – and smiled at him. “I just don’t want to be by myself again,” she whispered softly. 

“You’re not,” Killian said. It sounded like a promise. “Not ever again.”   
  
“You can’t just say things like that,” she muttered, closing her eyes, and heard Killian laugh before he pressed a kiss on her head. 

“What if I mean it?”   
  
“I’d try really hard to believe you in this apartment that isn’t five blocks away from mine.”   
  
“Change isn’t always bad, love. The future isn’t something to be afraid of. You just have to trust me.”   
  
“You really think that can work?”   
  
“You don’t think so?” Killian asked and Emma’s whole body felt heavy with the sadness in his voice. 

“I’m not sure.”   
  
“I guess it’s even worse than I thought.”

“How so?” Emma whispered. 

“You don’t trust me.”   
  
“I want to. A lot. And I do, mostly. But I also know you’re in Boston and I’m in New York and you  _ left _ , Killian. And now M’s and David are going to leave eventually. And once they do, once that future starts, everything is different.”   
  
“We’re not different, Swan.”   
  
“A little bit.”   
  
“Evolving,” he said, doing his best to smile. 

“I do trust you,” Emma said softly, hand pressed flat against Killian’s chest. She felt his breath stutter underneath her. “I just...I want…”   
  
He wrapped his fingers around Emma’s hands and stared at her. “Me too.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Enough to make you run away in an emotional outburst of overwhelming romance.”   
  
Emma let out another shaky laugh and scrunched her face slightly. “Hey, this time I ran  _ to _ you.”

“I know you did, love. I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

“You could get a bit more sleep, Swan,” he said. “It’s still early enough.”   
  
“Or I could not do that.”   
  
His smile inched across his face as slowly as his hand trailed down her spine. Emma was fairly certain she had goosebumps  _ everywhere _ . “What exactly did you have in mind, love?”   
  
Emma gripped his shoulders tightly, pulled her body flush against his and kissed Killian as hard as she possibly could. The future might be absolutely terrifying and overwhelming and absolutely uncertain, but the present was going to be a lot of fun.  

* * *

Emma  _ hated _ Boston.

She hated the crisscrossed streets and the cobblestones and the accents. She hated the obsession with Dunkin Donuts and ducks and anyone whose last name was Adams. She hated the memories of this city more than she ever would have thought she could. 

And yet...she  _ loved _ her job. 

Emma was more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life since taking over the Knicks beat, but she was good at it and – ridiculous video filmings aside – she was enjoying every single minute of it. 

There was something to be said for being the only girl on press row, the only dress in the locker room and the only New York reporter who got personally acknowledged by three quarter of the Knicks roster. 

So, Emma hated Boston – despised it with every fiber of her being – but she was good at what she did. Really good. 

And she was happy. 

Legitimately happy in Boston. 

Surprise. 

Emma got off the T and raced down the station steps, tugging her bag up on her shoulder and hoping she was going the right direction. 

This city never made sense. 

She glanced around the block – the same street she had shown up on the night before – and walked down the sidewalk, pressing the button on the apartment building intercom when she realized she was in the right spot. 

He didn’t say anything, just buzzed her into the building and Emma made a face as she pulled the door back behind her. She tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator moved up and walked down the hallway towards Killian’s front door. 

It was locked. 

Emma shook the lock slightly and sighed, moving back to knock on the door. “Killian!” she said, leaning back to lean on the doorframe. “You want to maybe let me in?”   
  
The door swung open and Emma gaped at him slightly. His hair was a  _ disaster _ , sticking up in every single direction, and he was still in gym clothes – a Red Sox t-shirt on with black shorts. She bit back a laugh. 

“You ok?” Emma asked, still leaning on the door. 

“You’re early.”  
  
“Fast writer,” she shrugged. 

“Should have taken that into consideration when planning.”   
  
“Planning?”

Killian nodded, smiling at Emma with so much enthusiasm that it actually caught her by surprise. He swung the door open even wider and that  _ surprise _ settled into every corner of Emma’s being. 

There were candles – actual candles – and a tablecloth and, well, a table. That hadn’t been there when she left for her game. 

She could smell the onion rings as soon as she walked in, dropping her bag in the corner and stepping out of her heels. 

“Your whole apartment is going to smell like onion rings for days,” Emma muttered. 

Killian glanced down at Emma out of the corner of his eye and smiled. “I’m willing to take that risk.”   
  
“What’s going on?”   
  
“I made food.”   
  
“There’s a tablecloth.”   
  
“I made fancy food.”   
  
“Fancy food?” Emma laughed, nudging her shoulder into his. “Onion rings are fancy food now?”

“They’re name-brand.”   
  
Emma was certain her smile took up more than half of her face. She shook her head slowly and walked around Killian until she was facing him – back turned towards the living room and the brand-new table. 

“You didn’t have to do all of that,” she said, putting her hands flat on his t-shirt. 

“I wanted to.”   
  
“Why?”

Killian sighed and pulled Emma’s hands down, wrapping his fingers around hers. “You’re really asking that?”   
  
She shrugged. “I think I just did.”   
  
“It’s Valentine’s Day, Swan.”   
  
“So?”   
  
“Aren’t you supposed to do something vaguely romantic on Valentine’s Day? Aren’t those the rules?”   
  
“I honestly have no idea.”   
  
“Well, this is the vaguely romantic,” he said, nodding back towards the living room. “Complete with onion rings.”   
  
“Romance would be nothing without onion rings.”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“I didn’t do anything though,” Emma said softly, resting her forehead on Killian’s shoulder. 

“That’s not true.” She made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. “It’s not,” Killian continued. “You’re here. You came here. In the middle of the night. If that’s not vaguely romantic, then I don’t know what is.”  
  
“You think running away is romantic? That’s kind of a twisted outlook.”   
  
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”   
  
“What are you saying then?”   
  
“You came  _ here _ , Swan. To...well...to me.”

Killian looked at her, brushing Emma’s hair off her shoulders and wrapping one hand around the back of her neck. “I missed you,” Emma mumbled.    
  
It was the first time she had admitted _ that _ out loud and she could almost feel the metaphorical weight lift off her shoulders. He smiled at her and kissed her softly. “That so?” he said, barely moving away from her lips. 

“Yeah.”   
  
The buzzer on the oven went off and the two of them jumped away from each other as if they had been shocked. Emma sighed. “Sorry, love,” Killian said, laughing softly and turning away to pull the onion rings out before they burned. “You hungry?”

“Starved.”   
  
“No good food at the Garden?”   
  
“I try not to eat at games. It’s  _ never _ good food.”   
  
“That is true.”   
  
“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”   
  
“Do you miss it?” Killian stared at Emma, taking a step towards her and tugging on her hand as he pulled her towards the couch. They sank down and Emma noticed that he didn’t let go of her hand once they sat down.

“Of course,” he said simply. “But this isn’t that bad. Plus, having you here makes it a bit better too.”   
  
“I won’t be here forever though.”   
  
“I know that,” he sighed. 

His shoulders dropped and he stared at her feet. Emma suddenly felt  _ something  _ – so strong and so sure that out of all of the things that had surprised her in the last few hours, this one practically made her whole head spin. 

She could do this. 

She could trust him. 

She did. 

“Hey,” Emma whispered. Killian’s head snapped towards hers and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Listen for a sec.”  
  
“What?”

“I um...I believe you.”   
  
“I don’t understand, Swan.”   
  
“I believe you,” Emma repeated. “And, well, I understand.”   
  
“That so? Because I’m still not sure that I do.”   
  
Emma sighed and made a face. She wasn’t good at this. “I get why you had to leave. And it wasn’t fair for me to get so upset. I wrote the book on running away. But I believe you. This can still work.”   
  
Killian’s mouth ticked up and his eyes practically  _ flashed _ at her. “I know it can.”   
  
“I trust you.”   
  
He didn’t say anything, just smiled at her and moved so quickly he was kissing her before Emma had even blinked. She pulled herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around Killian’s neck and trying to pour every single one of her emotions into the movement. 

“That’s all I wanted,” he said softly. 

“That’s all?”   
  
“Well, what I wanted most,” Killian laughed.

“Sorry it took so long to catch up.”   
  
“As previously discussed, Swan, I would have waited as long as it took.”   
  
“I want it. A lot,” Emma said softly. 

She didn’t say anything – didn’t actually use the word  _ future _ – but she knew that Killian understood what she meant. And she knew that he wanted it too – even if he ran away to Boston. 

Because she ran away too – to him. 

“It might not be easy, Swan,” Killian said, hands moving up and down her arm slowly. 

Emma shrugged. “Not much ever is.”   
  
“And you’re good with that?”   
  
“If you are, then so am I.”   
  
“I am,” Killian said and the confidence in his voice was enough to give Emma goosebumps. “It might not be Mary Margaret and David levels of perfection, love, but I think it’ll be worth it. I hope so, at least.

“You are,” Emma answered. Killian’s eyes widened and Emma felt his breath hitch before he smiled at her. 

“So are you.”   
  
“Hence the name-brand onion rings.”

“Of course,” Killian nodded, laughing quietly. “And the grilled cheese.”   
  
“There’s grilled cheese too?”   
  
“There will be eventually.”   
  
“You’re something else.”   
  
“Good?”   
  
“Even better,” Emma assured him. 

“You’re not going to be alone, love,” Killian said softly. “Not again. I promise.”

He kissed her again and Emma couldn’t find a single reason to doubt him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really are, almost, closing in on the end of this. I'm thinking we might not actually it to 50. There's still a fair amount of pages left on the Google Doc, but it's closing in on the finish line. Agh! Thank you guys so, so much for every single click, comment and kudos. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. As always, I am available to flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	43. Chapter 43

Mary Margaret had been mad.

Or disappointed.  
  
Mary Margaret didn’t get mad.

She got disappointed. And she was _very_ disappointed in Emma.

“I just wish you would have talked to me,” she said a few weeks later, still unable to _totally_ understand why Emma had run away.

“And prove to you what a jerk I was?” Emma asked. “No, it was better to get out of here and let you exist in post-engagement bliss for a few days.”  
  
“I would have listened.”   
  
“And then you have felt guilty and I wasn’t going to do that. Not to you M’s.”

“I want you to be happy, Emma.”  
  
“And I am. Really. One hundred percent.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“I’m not lying to you, M’s,” Emma said, meaning it. She wasn’t. She was happy for Mary Margaret and David – still a bit jealous, certainly – but also one hundred percent happy.

“Then can I ask you a question?”  
  
“Of course.”  Mary Margaret slid her foot along the kitchen floor and Emma widened her eyes, waiting for any sort of an actual question. “M’s?” Emma prompted and Mary Margaret groaned. “I can’t answer anything if you don’t ask me.”   
  
“I was wondering if you’d be my maid of honor?” Mary Margaret rushed out, nearly stumbling over the words as she continued to stare pointedly at her feet.

Emma took a step forward and reached out to grab her arm, squeezing slightly and smiling. “You’re kidding right?”  
  
“What?”   
  
“You think you honestly have to ask me to do that? Of course I will.”

Mary Margaret’s shoulders visibly slumped and she exhaled loudly. Emma just shook her head. “I just wanted to make sure you wanted to.”  
  
“I’m happy for you M’s,” Emma pressed. “Always. I was just being selfish.”

“Selfish? How?”  
  
“Well, maybe that’s not the right word. It was a whole mess of jumbled up emotions and childhood fears, but I think I figured it out.”   
  
“That so?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I did.”  
  
“It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with _where_ you went did it?”   
  
“Maybe.”

Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at Emma. She just widened her eyes and smiled. “I’m glad,” Mary Margaret said. “You deserve that.”  
  
“So I’ve heard.”   
  
Mary Margaret made a face that looked like she was 15 and Emma had just told her that she had a crush on a boy. It felt exciting and unexpected and Emma’s stomach flipped.

“Good,” Mary Margaret said strongly. “I was worried.”  
  
“About?”   
  
“That you were going to put those walls back up, bigger and stronger than before, because he tried to make sure he kept some control of his life.”   
  
“I know he wasn’t leaving _me_ . Or at least I do now.”   
  
“Good,” Mary Margaret repeated. “That is really, really good.”   
  
“I’m hoping.”   
  
Mary Margaret looked particularly satisfied with that answer and Emma did her best not to groan at her friend – that would have taken away from the whole apology kick she was on. “What?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing. I’m not saying anything at all.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”

“You think you’ll go back soon?”

“The Knicks don’t play in Boston for another month.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”   
  
“I know it is,” Emma sighed. “I don’t know, M’s. Maybe. He’s in Florida now anyway. Spring training and all that.”   
  
“And he likes it? The PR thing? It didn’t seem like something Killian would be into.”   
  
“That’s because it’s not.” Emma sighed again, but this time it was from genuine worry. He was doing a good job trying to pretend.

If Emma didn’t know him – couldn’t hear the way his voice skipped slightly when he talked about batting practice and games and how he couldn’t believe he had to be in charge of an Instagram feed – she would have been certain he was ok.

But Emma did know Killian, _could_ hear the way his voice changed when he talked about the team and she knew – even if he wouldn’t admit it – that he was bordering dangerously close to wallowing.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Emma said. “But I know there’s something going on.”

“I’m sure it’s kind of an overwhelming job.”  
  
“And one he shouldn’t be doing.”   
  
Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows, staring at Emma in surprise. It _was_ a rather pointed opinion. “Yeah, I know,” Emma muttered. “I don’t know, M’s. I think it’s harder than he expected. But if he doesn’t want to tell me, I’m not going to push. Not yet at least.”   
  
“Emma Swan, mature adult,” Mary Margaret teased.

“Sometimes. Anyway, we were talking about _you_ and happiness and plans. Let’s talk about that more.”   
  
“You want to talk about wedding plans with me? You would barely even open Regina’s e-mails.”

“That’s different and you know it. I like you a lot more than Regina.”  
  
“I’m honored.”

“It wasn’t much of a competition if we’re being honest,” Emma said. “So, come on, M’s. I know you’ve got plans. And color schemes. And more plans. Let’s hear ‘em.”

“Blue.”

“Blue?”  
  
“The color scheme,” Mary Margaret said. “I was thinking blue. And next spring. Here.”

“Here?” Emma repeated, earning a _look_ from Mary Margaret. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”   
  
“Yeah, here. And small. Like as small as possible.”

“People aren’t going to be happy about that.”

“People can deal,” Mary Margaret said in a very un-Mary Margaret voice. “We’ll do something in Storybrooke later, but our lives are _here_ . I’m not trying to throw some town-wide ball for my wedding. I just want to marry David. I’d do it later this afternoon if I could. I don’t really need anything more than that.”   
  
Emma took a deep breath – stunned slightly by the romance of it all – and then she had an idea. “Why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”  
  
“Marry David.”   
  
“I think that’s the plan,” Mary Margaret said, holding up her left hand and the ring there as if it was proof.

“That’s what I mean,” Emma continued. “Get married _this_ spring. We can still follow all your plans. Even get an entirely blue color scheme set. It’ll just happen sooner.”   
  
“You think we can pull that off?”   
  
“I don’t see why not. I mean it’s not an immediate elopement, so it’ll have some structure. But you’ll avoid the entire wedding-weekend extravaganza and get what you want and then we can go home at some point and let people shower you with gifts.”  
  
Mary Margaret stared at Emma for a beat, thoughts nearly making noise as they raced through her head. She took a few steps in the small kitchen. “That could work,” she said softly, still pacing. “I mean that could really work.”   
  
“I don’t see why not.”

“You’re a genius.”  
  
“Just your friend.”   
  
“And maid of honor,” Mary Margaret pointed out, before turning back around and practically crushing Emma in a hug.

“That too.”  
  
“You sure you’re ok with this?”

“M’s,” Emma said slowly, leaning back. “Of course.”

And she was.

Really.

She was slightly nervous about where she was going to live in a few months, but she’d cross that bridge when she got to. Or she’d ignore it completely.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Either way – she was going to be ok.

Mary Margaret hugged her again – tightly – and Emma was just about to complain about her oxygen intake when she heard the front door slam as David all but ran into the middle of the kitchen.

He stared at them for a moment before starting to talk – quickly.

“Did I miss something?” he asked. “Looks like I missed something. Wait, don’t say anything yet. I have news. Or I might have news.”  
  
“Are you having a conniption?” Emma asked, staring at him questioningly. He was practically jogging in place.

“Nervous energy.”  
  
“About?”   
  
David held up an envelope and Mary Margaret gasped quietly. “What is that?” Emma asked.

“My results.”  
  
“From the detective’s exam?” David nodded. “Well, open it!”   
  
David nodded again, but didn’t move to open the envelope. Mary Margaret looked slightly terrified. Emma sighed dramatically, walking towards him and pulling the letter out of his hand.

“Hey!” David yelled. “Don’t rip it!”  
  
“If you don't open it, I will,” Emma threatened, holding the envelope just out of his reach.

David groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and Emma waited. “Do it,” he said.

“You sure?”  
  
“If I do it, I might actually rip the letter in half. Do it.”

Emma nodded once and pushed one finger along the end of the envelope. David’s eyes were still squeezed tightly closed. Mary Margaret – finally – moved, reaching forward to grab his hand and it looked like he started to breathe again.

“Ok,” Emma muttered, ripping open the envelope. “Ok. Ok.”  
  
“Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “Just read it.”

“Ok,” she repeated, earning a glare from Mary Margaret. “Sorry. Sorry. Let’s read it.”

Emma pulled the paper out of the envelope – surprisingly thin for all its importance. Maybe the city should rethink its stationary budget, less money on DOE missives to reporters and more on NYDP promotions.

“One police plaza...commissioner William Bratton...blah blah blah,” Emma said quickly as David groaned. “Wait. Wait! Wait!”

“God, Emma, read the results,” he said sharply.

“You passed.”

“What?”  
  
“You. Passed,” she said again. “Congratulations, Detective Nolan.”

David let out a sigh – a mix between a laugh and a rush of air that had Emma smiling and Mary Margaret teary-eyed.   
  
“Really?” he asked.

“The fact that you think I would lie to you about this is troubling.”  
  
“I don’t think that.”   
  
“Here,” Emma said, handing the sheet of paper over to him. “Look for yourself.”

David took the letter from her hand and stared at it for several moments, tugging Mary Margaret into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder, a mix of pride and slight terror on her face. “You did it,” she whispered.

“I guess so.”  
  
“There’s no guessing, David,” Emma said sternly. “That’s legit. Straight from the commissioner’s desk.”   
  
“I don’t know about straight from his desk,” he argued, not looking up from the letter.

“Whatever.”  
  
“There’s a ceremony later this month,” Mary Margaret added, pointing at the bottom of the letter and a date Emma had skipped over entirely.

“This is for real,” Emma said, flicking David’s arm and getting his attention.

“It is.”  
  
“This is also good,” she added.

“It is,” Mary Margaret agreed. David and Emma stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, both taken aback by her declaration.

She had always been supportive – to a fault – but she had always been nervous about David’s career path. To hear that she thought this was a good thing was an almost unheard of development.

“Yeah?” David asked, slinging his arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

“Just don’t do anything stupidly heroic and get yourself hurt and we’ll be fine.”  
  
“I promise, babe.”   
  
“Good.”

“You guys going to tell me what you were talking about before?” David asked. “Looked like you were formulating a plan.”  
  
“Formulating has such a horrible connotation,” Emma said. “Let’s just say we were thinking.”   
  
“About?”   
  
“A wedding,” Mary Margaret answered. David’s arm dropped from her shoulders and he spun slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Well, elopement, actually. That seems like a better word, right Emma?” she asked.

“I think that’s what they would normally call it.”  
  
“You want to elope?”   
  
“I think I would consider it.”

“I would too,” David said immediately.

“Really?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma was just as stunned. “Your mom wouldn’t be upset?” she asked, glancing at David as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Probably,” he admitted. “But no more than Mary Margaret’s dad. They’d get over it.” He turned towards Mary Margaret, looking at her seriously and Emma suddenly felt like she was interrupting _something_.

“I just want to marry you,” David said without a hint of hesitation in his voice. “If we can do that sooner rather than later, I’m all for that plan.”

Mary Margaret nodded enthusiastically. “I like that plan.”  
  
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Emma stared at her friends for a moment, biting her lip – mostly so she wouldn’t cry at how _damn_ romantic it was – and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. Mary Margaret and David hadn’t moved an inch, just stood rooted to the spot staring at each other like they were slightly stunned to see the other one there in front of them.

“If you guys don’t kiss each other right now, I’m going to have a fit,” Emma said.

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” David said, throwing a sarcastic glare at Emma. She made a face at his back as he stepped towards Mary Margaret and kissed her – Emma was _absolutely_ interrupting something now.

She retreated out of the kitchen, walking back down the hallway and pulling her phone out of her back pocket.

The phone was to her ear and ringing before Emma had really considered what she was doing. Killian picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, love,” he said softly – he sounded tired. “I was just going to call you.”

“Yeah?”

“In between BP and the game,” Killian continued. “I had a few minutes.”  
  
“Well, I’ve got fairly breaking news.”   
  
“Knicks news?”   
  
“Life news.”   
  
Killian laughed quietly and Emma – not for the first time – felt like he _wasn’t_ telling her something. “Life news sounds like something big.”   
  
“Two something bigs.”   
  
“You’re stalling, Swan.”   
  
“I’m trying to draw out the suspense a bit,” she said, as she walked into her room and collapsed against the small mountain of pillows on her bed. “Keep it exciting.”   
  
“Well, you’ve caught my interest. Let’s hear your news.”   
  
“David passed his detective’s exam.”   
  
“And how is Mary Margaret taking that?” Killian asked quickly. “He’s been worried about the way she’d react.”   
  
“I always forget that you guys talk about the precinct. He barely ever brings it up at home.”

“Because he’s afraid of how Mary Margaret will react.”

“She was surprisingly calm, actually,” Emma said. “I think she’s almost ok with it. Almost.”

“Almost is better than not at all,” he laughed. “Was that the second big thing? Mary Margaret?”  
  
“Nuh uh, bigger than that.”

Emma heard people talking in the background and someone yell something about _updating the Twitter feed_ and Killian sighed audibly into the phone. “You ok?” Emma asked.

“Sure.”  
  
“Killian…”   
  
“Tell me the other big news, Swan.”   
  
“You sure you don’t have to go?”   
  
“You trying to kick me out of this conversation, love?” he laughed.

“I’m not. I’m trying to make sure you don’t have to be somewhere else.”  
  
“I’m talking to you,” Killian answered. “Whatever they want me to do can wait.”   
  
Emma pressed her lips together tightly before continuing, ignoring every other question she wanted to ask Killian. She told Mary Margaret she wouldn’t push.

“What do you think you’re doing at some point in May?”  
  
“Probably watching a baseball game.”   
  
“You think you can make it back to New York for like a day? Maybe two?”   
  
“You asking me out, Swan?”   
  
“This is, officially, your invitation to David and Mary Margaret’s wedding and my request for you to be my plus-one.” He didn’t say anything for a moment and Emma knew he was doing _something_ with his eyebrow. “Still with me?” she asked after a few more moments of prolonged silence.

“Still here,” he muttered.

“That was the other big thing, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah, I picked up on that.”   
  
“And?”   
  
“And they’re getting married in May?”

“Well, I don’t know about May exactly,” Emma said. “This all got decided in the last couple of minutes.”  
  
“Efficient.”   
  
“Would you believe that they actually _want_ to elope? David’s mom is going to lose her mind.”

“If she reacts like did over even the chance that I changed her radio presets, I’m not sure I’d want to be around when she finds out.”

“You willing to be in on the secret?” Emma asked.

“Of course.”  
  
“Just like that?”   
  
“If you’re in on the secret, then I’m more than willing to be.”   
  
“I like that,” Emma said softly.

She could hear him smile. “Me too.”

Someone yelled _Killian_ in the background and Emma heard the sound of doors slamming and cleats on the ground.

“You gotta go,” she said – a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Killian answered. “They’re going to do infield.”  
  
“Baseball has so many rounds of warm-ups. Seems unnecessary.”

“Not every sport can start with a layup line, Swan,” he said.

“Probably only basketball actually.”

“True.”

Something was wrong. She knew it. And Emma knew that _he_ knew that she knew it. He just wasn’t going to say anything about it.

She knew that too.

Emma could wait. She could be patient. Probably.

She could at least be encouraging.

“Go run the Boston Red Sox,” she said, filling the empty space in the conversation as quickly as she could. “They sound like they need you.”  
  
“To update their Twitter feed and send releases.”   
  
“Doesn’t change the fact that they need you.”   
  
“True,” he sighed and Emma bit her lip. “Tell Mary Margaret and David I’m in on the elopement secret. I’ll be there.”   
  
“I’m holding you to that.”

“I promise, Swan,” he said – all trace of sadness gone from his voice. He sounded like _him_.

“Good,” Emma answered. “Go save Twitter.”

Killian laughed and the noise against the phone made Emma certain he was nodding at her. “I’m not running the Red Sox nor am I saving Twitter, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”  
  
“Ok.”

* * *

David looked incredibly official in his dress uniform.

He looked like a grown up. A grown up who was going to go out and fight crime for a living.

Emma wasn’t nearly as audibly worried as Mary Margaret was – she wasn’t the one marrying him after all – but she couldn’t help but be concerned that he _would_ do something stupidly heroic, because that was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

She didn’t cry during the ceremony – Emma left that up to Mary Margaret, but she did feel something dangerously close to pride as David stood at attention with the rest of the promoted officers.

The picture the three of them took after the ceremony was sitting in a frame on her desk.

“You’re putting pictures on your desk now?” Will asked, walking up behind her and practically scaring her out of her chair.

“God, Will, walk louder next time.”  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered. “So who’s the guy? Boyfriend?”   
  
Emma stared at him speculatively, raising her eyebrows. He knew it wasn’t. Everyone knew the guy in the picture wasn’t her boyfriend.

Kathryn – despite her assurances that the story wasn’t really all that exciting without a scandal – had made sure to inform the entire _New York Record_ that Emma and Killian were very much dating and had been for quite some time.

“That’s her,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, “fiance. Definitely not my boyfriend.”  
  
“He’s a cop?”   
  
“You’re one heck of a reporter.”   
  
“I am asking a legitimate question.”   
  
“He’s a detective now,” Emma said, looking up at him. “Got promoted last week.”   
  
Will let out a low whistle and made a face that was somewhere between impressed and sarcastic. Emma made a face. “You just come here to stare at the pictures on my desk?”   
  
“Nope,” he answered, popping his mouth on the final letter. “I came here to let you know that someone is looking for you.”   
  
“If it’s Jefferson I’m going to pull my hair out at this desk.”   
  
“It’s Milah Gold.”

Emma almost fell out of her chair again. “What?”

“Yup,” Will nodded, crossing his arms and looking at Emma seriously. “Came onto the floor a couple of minutes ago. Said she wanted to talk to you and only you.”

“Jeez,” Emma muttered, hand brushing over her chain. Will’s eyes glanced down and he narrowed his stare slightly. Emma dropped her hand. “Where is she now?”  
  
“In the conference room.”

Emma sighed and rolled her head between her shoulder blades before standing up and sliding her arms into her blazer. She took a deep breath and Will looked at her warily. “Alright,” Emma said softly, doing her best to calm the nerves racing through her system. “Let’s do this.”  
  
Will nodded encouragingly at her and Emma turned on her heels working her way towards the conference room.

Milah Gold was sitting at the end of the conference table, legs crossed perfectly so one heel hooked behind the other. Emma took another deep breath, steeling herself for _whatever_ was about to happen and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Gold?” she asked, as Milah’s head snapped up. “Will said you wanted to see me?”  
  
“You’re Emma?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Come in,” she said, pointing towards a chair near her. “Sit down.”   
  
“Thanks.” Emma sank down into the chair, resisting the very _real_ urge to ask 800 questions all at once.

They stared at each for a few prolonged minutes of near-painful silence before Emma settled into journalist-mode. She was going to get some answers.

“Why did you want to see me, Mrs. Gold?” she asked.

Milah looked at her appraisingly for another second and smiled sadly. “You can call me Milah.”  
  
“Ok,” Emma agreed. “Why did you want to see me Milah?”   
  
“You’re straightforward. No wonder Killian liked you.”   
  
Emma’s eyebrows shot up and she bit back several immediate – and vaguely biting – responses. “I’m just curious.”   
  
“I have no doubt.”   
  
“Ok…”

“I wanted to apologize.”

Huh. Well that wasn’t what Emma had expected.

“For?” she asked. Milah spread her hands out, gesturing to the entire office. Emma shrugged. “I don’t know that this was specifically your fault.”  
  
“I did try to warn him.”   
  
“And you did. I know he appreciated it.”

“Somehow I don’t feel like I changed anything for the better though.”

Emma tried not to sigh. “It is,” she argued, as much with herself as the woman sitting in front of her. “It wouldn’t have ended well for Killian here. He knew that and he understood that.”

“He deserved better than that.”  
  
“Yes,” Emma said, not even blinking before she agreed. Milah smiled again.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Sure.”  
  
“You’re serious about this? About Killian?”   
  
Emma’s mouth dropped open a bit –  _she_ wasn’t the straightforward one, that appeared to be all Milah’s territory. “Yeah, I am,” she answered after a few more moments. “Very.”   
  
“That’s good.”

“Can I ask you something?” Emma continued, crossing her arms and sitting up a bit straighter.

“Sure.”  
  
“Why did you leave?”   
  
“Right into the deep end, huh?” Milah laughed.

“Figured you weren’t really one to beat around the bush.”  
  
“I’m not.”

“Then…”

Milah pursed her lips tightly and stared at Emma – like she was trying to _understand_ her or something – and took a deep breath before answering.

“Robert found out.”  
  
“I kind of figured that.”   
  
“And he made some threats. He wasn’t as powerful then as he is now, didn’t have nearly enough money, but he could have made Killian’s life very difficult for him, made it nearly impossible for him to get anything besides a job at that paper.”

“So you did what, exactly?”  
  
“Offered to come back. Walk away, break all ties and give up on the plans. Robert wouldn’t blackball Killian and things would be fine.”   
  
“Didn’t exactly go according to plan,” Emma pointed out, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“Why do you think I wanted to warn him about Robert this time?”  
  
“You were trying to make amends.”   
  
“Or something like that. It didn’t seem to work again.”

Emma didn’t know what to say.

It hadn’t worked. Again.

And now Killian was by himself in Florida, going crazy over Twitter feeds and Instragram likes and he wouldn’t talk to Emma about it.

“You don’t have to try and disagree with me,” Milah said. “I know it’s true. But I’m trying to fix it again.”  
  
“Maybe you should stop doing that,” Emma mumbled before she could think about stopping herself. “Leave Killian alone.”   
  
Milah’s eyes widened for a moment, but when Emma met her eyes she looked more impressed than anything else. “You really do care,” she said, sounding a bit amazed.

“More than anything.”

It was what Killian always said to her – _more than anything_ – and Milah’s lips ticked up at the words. “Good,” she said. “Then you can help me fix this.”   
  
“I don’t know what you think I can do. He went to Boston on his own. He got that job on his own. Because he didn’t want to get fired by _your_ husband.”

“I know that, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you – we’re leaving.”  
  
“What?”

“We’ve been here for four months. Robert puts on a good show, trying to look big and important, but he wants to go home. And,” Milah added, eyes practically flashing at Emma. “If we stay any longer this whole newspaper will realize he’s having an affair with Belle in news.”

Emma wondered what kind of world she had stumbled into when she decided to get a job at _The New York Record_. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. People simply could not be this dramatic this consistently.

And yet, here she was, sitting in a conference room talking with her boyfriend’s ex- _whatever_ , discussing her husband’s affairs and how to get Killian back in New York.

At least that was what Emma thought was going on.

“So, you’re just going to leave and you think that’ll make Killian walk away from the Red Sox and do what?”

“He’ll come back for you,” Milah argued, sounding very certain for having only met Emma a few minutes before.

“He didn’t stay because of me.”  
  
“And I would bet this entire stupid newspaper that he is miserable.”   
  
Emma shrugged. “He’s not going to come back to _The Record_.”

“He can’t come back to _The Record_ ,” Milah said, waving her hand in the air again. “Robert’s made sure of that at least. But there are other jobs in New York. He’s always wanted to be in New York. This is his home.”   
  
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Emma countered. “But he’s done what he thinks he has to. I don’t know what you expect me to do.”   
  
“Get him to come home.”   
  
“He got an apartment in Boston. He’s putting down roots.”   
  
“I heard he kept his apartment here too.”   
  
“Where are you getting your information?” Emma gasped, trying to decide if she should be impressed or slightly upset that Milah knew so much.

“Have you ever been on the lifestyles floor? They know everything.”  
  
“I’ve heard,” Emma groaned.

“They said you two have been together for quite some time.”  
  
“Couple of months.”   
  
Milah shook her head. “More than that.”   
  
“I wouldn’t have labeled it as _together_ from the get-go,” Emma admitted. “But it was something like that.”   
  
“Can I ask you another question?”

“I don’t see why not.”  
  
“Why didn’t you go with him?”   
  
“To Boston?” Milah nodded. “A whole slew of reasons actually, least of all my job. I couldn’t walk away from that. Killian knew that.”   
  
“I’m sure he did.” Emma narrowed her eyes, certain she was missing _something_ in this conversation. Milah didn’t say anything else and Emma’s nerves returned in full force.

“He’s not going to come back, you know,” Emma said after a few moments. “We’ve already had this conversation more times than I can count.”  
  
“I think Killian might surprise you. It is so obvious how much he loves you.” Emma jerked back quickly, gaping at her. “I saw him for five minutes, after seven years and you know what the first question he asked me was when I told him about Robert?”

Emma shook her head. “He wanted to know if he was going to cut jobs. Said there were important people at _The Record_ who didn’t deserve to get screwed over by Robert. He didn’t ask about his own job once.”   
  
“There are plenty of people at this paper,” Emma argued quietly.

“Ah, you forget. I’ve been spending time on the lifestyles floor. It took a few hours to figure out that there was one _important_ person here, at least as far as Killian was concerned. You.”

Emma opened her mouth to say something – anything – but Milah shook her head. There was, apparently, more.

“Robert was going to do it. He was going to cut jobs. He found out Killian was sports editor here and he was determined to cut apart the section. It was all he talked about throughout the sale. But then he bought the paper and the next day Killian walked into the office – right in the middle of a meeting with Isaac – and demanded to talk to Robert.

They were in there for _hours_ , but in the end it just came down to Killian’s job. He walked away. Robert said he wouldn’t cut any of Killian’s staff.”   
  
Emma didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t true.

It couldn’t have been true.

That wasn’t what he had told her.

She shook her head slowly and tried to come up with some kind of intelligent sentence. “That’s not what happened,” Emma mumbled.

Milah smiled sadly at her again. “I promise, Emma, that’s exactly what happened.”  
  
“But,” she sputtered. “He told me that he wanted to walk away. To make sure that Gold couldn’t take his job away from him. He was trying to maintain some sort of control.”

“And he was.”

Emma’s head was spinning.

Milah was right. He was maintaining some control. What had he told her? _I am taking control of my options before they all get taken from me._

He traded his job for them.

He traded his job for her.

Emma’s hand gripped the ring around her neck instinctively. She felt Milah’s eyes widen as she stared at her. “Is that…” she trailed off, gaping at Emma’s clenched hand.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered.

Milah’s shoulders dropped and she exhaled loudly. “You have to get him to come back, Emma. Somehow.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”  
  
“If you love him as much as he loves you,” Milah said, nodding towards the ring. “You’ll figure it out.”

“You knew this whole time?” Emma asked. “That he walked away for us?”  
  
“For you,” Milah corrected her immediately. “And, yeah, I did. I wondered if he ever told you.”

“He’d never do that.”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“When are you leaving?”

“End of the week,” Milah said. “I _am_ sorry about all of this, Emma. Everything. I know it may be hard to believe, but I really do want Killian to be happy.”   
  
She wasn’t lying.

“I know you do,” Emma answered. “So do I.”

Milah nodded, but they were interrupted before she could say anything else. Jefferson walked into the conference room, eyes landing on Emma immediately.

“Emma!” he said quickly, not noticing Milah at all. “I was looking all over for you. Wanted to touch base on the live-chat for tomorrow’s game and the column on Sunday.”

She took a deep breath and nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure thing,” she said. “I just need to make one phone call before we do that. Can I meet you in your office in like 10?”  
  
“Sure,” he replied, flashing an enthusiastic smile and, finally, noticing Milah. “Oh! Mrs. Gold. I didn’t see you in here. How are you?”   
  
“I’m fine, Jefferson, thanks.”

He glanced nervously between the two of them before landing on Emma. “I’ll see you in a couple of minutes?”

She nodded, standing up and grabbing her phone off the conference table. “Absolutely.”

Jefferson backed out of the conference room – gone as quickly as he came – and Emma shook her head.

“He’s very enthusiastic,” she said, glancing towards Milah in explanation.

“He’s also terrified Robert will fire him if he doesn’t keep the numbers where they were while Killian was in charge.”

Emma bit her lip – still trying to wrap her mind around the afternoon. “Thank you for telling me. I know you care about him too.”

“I’m glad I met you, Emma,” Milah said. She wasn’t lying about that either.

Emma nodded once. “Me too,” she answered, meaning each letter, before walking off the sports floor and heading out towards the sidewalk on 8th Ave.   
  
She stepped into the sea of people, trying to find somewhere she could think. And hear herself on the phone. Emma walked around the building, yanking her phone out as she went and tapped his speed dial, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Hey,” Killian said when he answered. He sounded tired.

“Hey,” Emma answered, voice barely above whisper.

“I can’t hear you Swan, where are you?”  
  
“On the sidewalk.”

“Why are you just out on the sidewalk?”  
  
“I wanted somewhere to talk.”   
  
“And you picked 8th Ave.?”

“I wanted to talk to you without anyone listening. And I figured the tourists weren’t going to eavesdropping on my conversation.”

“You alright, love?”  
  
“I love you,” Emma said suddenly, blurting out the words without much thought or warning – just like she had on Thanksgiving.

He laughed softly and it was the first time he sounded genuinely happy in weeks. “I love you too, Swan.”

“Good. That’s good.”  
  
“Were you not sure?”

“No, I was,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you knew too.”  
  
“I do,” Killian assured her. “What brought this on?”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” Emma repeated.

“And?”  
  
“And what?”

“Come on Swan, I know there’s more. Let’s save some time and you just tell me now.”  
  
Emma sighed, leaning her head back against the side of the building. “I know you’re upset,” she said slowly.

“I’m not upset,” he objected – far too quickly.

“Killian.”

“What?” His voice was sharp and Emma shut her eyes tightly, sighing again.

“Talk to me.”  
  
“We decided not to do the pushing thing.”   
  
“I’m not pushing. I’m asking my boyfriend why he’s been upset for the last two months. That seems fair.” Killian made some sort of disgruntled noise in the phone and Emma knew she had won. “Talk,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”  
  
“That’s a very pointed opinion.”   
  
“And accurate,” Emma argued. “Come on, don’t get mad. I know there’s something going on. You don’t have to lie.”  He didn’t say anything for a few moments, but Emma could hear him take a deep breath. “Talk to me,” she added, a bit softer than before. “You can.”   
  
“I know that.”   
  
“Then, please, tell me what’s going on.”   
  
“It’s not what expected.”   
  
“What isn’t?”

“This job. PR. The entire Boston Red Sox organization.”  
  
Emma sank against the building, her entire body slouching as she fought off her reaction to the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, I kind of figured,” she said softly.

“Smart.”  
  
“I just know you.”   
  
“I know you do, Swan,” Killian answered. “And I know you’ve been worried this whole time. You were right you know.”   
  
“About?”

“Everything. It isn’t writing and it’s just all promotion. Everything has to be positive, everything has to have some spin and it is so _damn_ hot here, I can’t even think sometimes.”   
  
Emma let out a strangled laugh at his final complaint, heart seizing a bit at the thought that he was upset about the weather.

“I can’t believe you’re mad about the temperature,” she said, shaking her head.

“More the other things if we’re being honest.”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
He didn’t answer – just groaned, his frustration getting the better of him. “You could come back,” Emma said quietly, absolutely certain he wouldn’t.

“That’s not an option, love,” he answered, just as quiet as Emma. She wondered quickly how he had managed to hear her when he couldn’t before.

“Tell the Red Sox to fuck off. And kept their Floridian humidity.”  
  
“They do come back to Boston eventually.”   
  
“And they play in New York a lot,” Emma added, doing her best to sound hopeful.

“Twelve times,” he said. Emma said.

“And you’ll probably need somewhere to stay.”  
  
“You think the very wealthy Boston Red Sox won’t provide me with a place to stay, Swan?”

Emma frowned, insecurity washing over her suddenly. That hadn’t been happening very often anymore, but the feeling hit her quickly. “Oh,” she muttered. “Yeah, yeah, that does make sense.”

“Emma,” he said suddenly and her eyes widened, head snapping up. “That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“What did you mean?”

“That the very wealthy Boston Red Sox will provide me with a very large, very expensive hotel room that I would be very interested in sharing with you.”  
  
“Oh.”   
  
“That’s it?” he asked and Emma could hear him smirking.

“That sounds nice.”

“Nice?” he repeated skeptically.

“I’m standing on the middle of the sidewalk,” Emma reasoned. “I can’t provide a detailed list of adjectives on the middle of the sidewalk.”  
  
“You said the tourists wouldn’t be eavesdropping.”   
  
“Killian,” Emma whined.

“Yes, Swan?” Emma sighed and Kilian just laughed into the phone. “It’s almost over,” he continued. “They’re almost done with spring training and then I’ll be back. Not home, but back-ish.”  
  
Emma pressed her back against the stone behind her when he called New York _home_ and focused on keeping his good mood in tact. “Back-ish is better than Florida,” she said.

“I think so,” Killian agreed. “And you’ve got games in Boston.”  
  
“And clothes, too.”   
  
“A whole side of the closet if you want.”

“I don’t know if I have enough clothes for two closets in two different cities.”  
  
“We’ll make it work,” he said and Emma heard the determination in his voice, certain he was saying much more than just a few words.

“I’ve got faith.”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“In you.”   
  
Killian took a deep breath and Emma wished he was there, wished she could kiss him and tell him she _knew_ , she knew what he did and he didn’t have to give up anything else for her. “Thank you Swan,” he said.

“I love you,” Emma said again.

“I love you too. And, for the record, I’ve got faith in you too.”  
  
“Really?”

“Boatloads,” he said and Emma scoffed. “I’m serious, Swan. It’s going to be ok. This was my choice, right? I’ll make it work.”  
  
Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around her, trying to stay warm. “You’re very determined. And very stubborn.”

“Just when it comes to you.”  
  
“Jeez,” Emma groaned.

“That’s romantic, love.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”

Someone yelled for him in the background and Killian sighed. “Duty calls, Swan,” he said, sarcasm coming through the phone in waves.

“Go,” Emma answered, doing her best to sound supportive. “I told Jefferson I’d meet him to talk column ideas 20 minutes ago.”  
  
“Skirting authority?”   
  
“I don’t know that I really see Jefferson as an authority.”   
  
“Hey,” Killian said suddenly. “You’re doing great, you know. The columns are fantastic. And you almost a made a basket in that last video.”   
  
Emma smiled. “Thanks.”   
  
“Go talk to Jefferson, love. Don’t want you getting in trouble.”   
  
“I’ll do my best to stay in line.”   
  
“Good. It’s going to get better Swan.”   
  
“I believe you.”   
  
“That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've got a few more chapters before the end. Thank you so much all for every single click, comment and kudos. I can't tell you how much it's meant to me that you've all stuck with me through all of this. It's so long. Feel free to come flail with me on Tumblr: @welllpthisishappening


	44. Chapter 44

Emma’s desk phone rang – loudly – and she gasped, surprised to hear the thing even making noise. She muttered a few choice words under her breath and leaned forward, grabbing the thing and pulling it towards her ear.

“Hello?”

  
“Hi, Emma, there’s a kid down here to see you.”

Emma muttered again and did her best not to groan at Leroy. “Henry?”

“I have no idea what his name is.”

“His name is Henry.”

“You want me to send him up?”

“I’ll be right down.”

Emma hung up before the security guard could say anything else and jogged across the sports department floor, heading back towards the elevator bank. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, tapping the screen impatiently and wondering why Henry hadn’t just called her.

Oh.

He had texted her.

_Emma, this guy won’t let me come upstairs. Can you tell him to let me in. I’ve got news!!_

The elevator dinged and the doors slide open slowly. Emma rushed into the lobby to find Henry nervously glancing at Leroy who was all but _leering_  at the kid. She tried not to groan again and moved in between the two of them, putting her hand on Henry’s shoulder and glaring at Leroy.

“Why wouldn’t you let him up?” Emma asked without any preamble.

“I can’t just let up random people,” Leroy bit back.

“He’s not random. Henry’s been here half a dozen times. He _told_ you he was here to see me. For future reference you can let him come up to the floor whenever he’s here. Got it?”  
  
“Got it.”

Emma glanced down towards Henry, hand still protectively on his shoulder. “Come on kid, we’ll take a walk and you can tell me your news.”  
Henry nodded once, looking clearly like he was trying not to laugh at the frustrated look on Leroy’s face. Emma turned on the spot and pulled him towards the street. It was finally starting to get warm again – the sidewalks jam-packed with people using their lunch hour to get some fresh air and battle for positioning along 8th Avenue.

Emma and Henry pushed through the crowd outside _The Record_ building and walked across the block, heading farther west where the tourists wouldn’t go. Tourists didn’t believe in anything farther west than 9th Ave.

“It’s quieter over here,” Henry said when they reached 10th Ave and Emma turned them slightly, heading farther uptown.

For someone who lived about as far downtown in Manhattan as it was possible to live, Emma _loved_ it uptown – quiet and old, chock-full of brownstones and people with way too much money. When she, Mary Margaret and David had first moved to New York, Emma wanted to live uptown, but it was never a possibility.

Someday.

Maybe.

If things went perfectly according to the unspoken hopes and dreams Emma had, but never told anybody about.

“I like it up here,” Emma answered after a few moments. “It’s a bit slower, you know what I mean?”  
  
Henry nodded, eyes flitting over the tree-lined streets and glancing at the dog walker moving past them, six different leashes gripped tightly in her hand.

“I get it. Easier to think. Or something.”  
  
“Or something,” Emma agreed, laughing quietly under her breath. “So, what’s your news?”  
  
Henry stopped suddenly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rolling back on his heels. He was smiling at Emma and she nearly stopped breathing because the move was so _Killian_ that she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“It’s big news,” he said, voice packed with excitement.

“Then share,” Emma said, smiling slightly and widening her eyes.

Henry pulled his backpack off his shoulder and leaned down to unzip it. He rummaged through the contents of the bag for a few seconds before making some kind of triumphant noise and pulling out a large envelope from in between two binders.

“Jeez, how much homework are they giving you kid?” Emma laughed.

“Enough,” Henry groaned, standing back up, but leaving the backpack on the sidewalk. He handed Emma the enormous envelope and took a step back, a look of expectation plastered on his face.

“What’s this?” Emma asked.

“Open it and see.”  
  
Emma tilted her head at him, but did as he said, reaching into the envelope and pulling out the half a dozen sheets of paper inside. Her eyes roved over the letters on the page and the University of Virginia emblem plastered on the top right corner of each sheet of paper. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

_Congratulations on your acceptance to the University of Virginia and welcome to the Cavaliers family. We hope that you’ll be joining us next fall and would like to offer you an academic scholarship in the form of complete tuition…._

The letter went on, but Emma couldn’t read any more – eyes already too blurry from the tears she _absolutely_ was not crying.

“Emma?” Henry asked, sounding concerned. “Are you ok?”  
  
She glanced up at him to find a smile, encouraging smile on his face. God, he was _comforting_ her.

“Are you crying?” he croaked out, laughter just there there in the words.

“Of course not,” Emma muttered, rubbing her knuckles just underneath her eyes. “This is for real?”  
  
“It’d be one sick joke if it isn’t.”  
  
Emma let out a shaky laugh, gripping the envelope tightly between two fingers and staring down at the acceptance letter again. When she looked back up, Henry was beaming at her and she knew she was matching his expression with one of her own.

“This is incredible,” she said sincerely.

“Right?!”

“An academic scholarship,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “God, kid, you’re smarter than all of us. You should have written your own feature story.”  
  
“Emma,” Henry groaned, rolling his whole body in the most stereotypical _teenage_ way possible. “Come on, you know that’s not true.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face. “I didn’t know you applied to UVA. When did you get the letter?”  
  
“Yesterday. I didn’t even think I’d get in, honestly,” Henry said. “It was kind of a joke thing. But, well, I was thinking about it a couple of months ago and we figured there was no point in not at least trying.”  
  
“We?” Henry’s eyes widened – like he realized he had said something he shouldn’t. “Who’s we?” Emma pressed.  
  
“Me and Killian and David.”

“You and Killian and David,” Emma repeated softly, twisting her mouth slightly in disbelief.

“Yeah, well, they both knew what I wanted to do.”  
  
“And that is?”  
  
“Major in history and play baseball eventually.”  
  
“Of course.”

Henry took a deep breath and then he was off, rolling through a wordy explanation that had Emma’s head spinning.

“Yuh huh,” Henry said quickly. “David helped with the essay and we talked about what I could do with a history degree and then, you know, Killian helped with the baseball part. Obviously.”  
  
“Obviously. What exactly was the baseball part of an academic scholarship?”  
  
“One of the guys he played with at Louisville is an assistant at UVA now. So Killian talked to him and they do walk-on stuff a few days after the school year starts.”  
  
“You’re going to walk on at UVA?”

“I’m going to try.”  
  
Emma did her best not to sigh – someday her friends were going to tell her things – and stared at Henry, practically bursting with enthusiasm and determination. That wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to be frustrated when this kid was standing in front of her with his entire future laid out at his feet and an anxious smile on his face?  
  
She wasn’t frustrated.

At all.

She was thrilled for him. Because he deserved an education and a brand-new chance in a brand-new state and a brand-new team.

“They’ll bring you on,” Emma said confidently.

“We’ll see.”  
  
“Nah, none of that. It’ll happen. If Killian knows this guy then he’ll make sure it happens.”

“I kind of wanted to get on the team on my own.”  
  
“And I’m not saying you won’t. I’m just saying Killian wouldn’t set you up for something that isn’t going to work.”  
  
“Oh,” Henry said. “Yeah. That’s definitely true.”  
  
“When was all of this happening?” Emma asked, suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean you have to apply to school in December, right?”

“Yeah.”  
  
Henry didn’t say anything else and Emma narrowed her eyes, doing her best Mary Margaret teacher impersonation. It worked. He sighed and shifted on his feet.

“Killian and David had some time at the end of the month,” Henry continued. “They knew I wanted to go to UVA, but that I wasn’t going to apply because I thought it was such a longshot. They, uh, they weren’t really into that idea.”  
  
“Of course they weren’t.”

“So we met a couple of times before Christmas and they helped. And I sent my application in like a day before the deadline. It was close. Beacon almost didn’t get my transcript together in time.”  
  
“Before Christmas?” Emma squeaked out, arms tight across her chest.

It would figure.

That stupid, selfless man. Men. Both of them. Stupid and selfless and so intent on helping it made Emma’s whole body ache.

“Yeah,” Henry answered. “They said they had some time.”  
  
Because Emma wasn’t talking to Killian. And David knew it.

She shook her head slowly, a smile tugging on her mouth. They barely talked for almost two weeks and he was still out there, determined to help Henry and make sure that all the work they had spent on those feature stories and fighting with the DOE didn’t go to waste.

Killian and David got Henry into college and Emma was doing her best not to cry on a sidewalk in the Upper West Side.

“You ok, Emma?” Henry asked and she knew he already had an answer to the question.

“Absolutely,” she said, wiping away the tears. Henry smiled at her knowingly. “What did you write your essay about?”  
  
Henry groaned and bit his lip – Emma’s curiosity immediately sparked. “What?” she asked.

“Stuff.”  
  
“Stuff? I don’t know that you get a full academic scholarship on stuff.”  
  
He groaned again and bobbed on the balls of his feet. “I wrote about people,” Henry said evasively.

“People in general?”  
  
“No,” he said, moving his head back and forth nervously. Emma waited. “You know, people _people_. And what you did and and Mary Margaret and, well, all of you. I wrote about that.”

Emma moved on instinct, pulling Henry across the small space in between them and hugging him tightly. He hugged back, arms moving around her waist.

He was nearly taller than Emma – but he seemed to settle into _kid_ quickly and she wondered how anyone couldn’t care about this kid as soon as they saw him.

“I’m going to miss you when I go to school,” he said and Emma smiled, her cheek resting on the top of his head.

“Right back at you, kid,” she answered. “But this is good. You did it. And you’ll go and write a ridiculous amount of papers on the American Revolution and then you’ll hit 800 home runs and play in the College World Series.”  
  
“Eight hundred?” he asked, laughing loudly.

“Maybe not eight hundred. But at least 20.”  
  
“That seems more viable.”  
  
“Deal then. I expect no less than 20 home runs freshman year.”  
  
“You don’t even know that I’ll make the team yet.”  
  
“I’ve got an absurd amount of confidence in you.”  
  
Henry grinned at her and hugged Emma tightly again for one moment before taking a step away. “You tell Killian yet?” Emma asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to bother him. He’s supposed to be flying back from Baltimore later today.”

Emma felt _something_ hearing that Henry knew Killian’s schedule as well as she did. “True,” she said. “But you’ve got to tell him too. We’ll text him. Come here.”  
  
She pulled her phone back out, ignoring the dozen e-mails she had in the half an hour she had been away from the office, and swiped up the screen, flipping the camera around. “What are you doing?” Henry asked.

“We’re going to take a picture. Obviously.” Henry groaned and Emma answered his grimace with a face of her. “This is an occasion, Henry,” she said. “A picture is necessary.”

He rolled his eyes, but stepped towards Emma leaning against her shoulder so that they could both fit in the frame. “You’ve got to hold up the letter,” she sighed. “Otherwise this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Fine, fine, fine.”  
  
Emma shot him a satisfied grin as Henry held up the acceptance letter in between the two of them and she held her phone out, snapping the picture. “Looks good,” she nodded in approval and Henry made some sort of _teenage_ noise that wasn’t a yes or a no. Emma laughed, shaking her head as she sent out the photo – texting it to Killian, David and Mary Margaret.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately and Emma _knew_ it was Mary Margaret.

It was.

 _Oh my God!! Tell Henry congratulations. That is so, so, incredibly wonderful_.

Emma smiled at the text message and handed her phone towards Henry who chuckled under his breath. “She used a lot of adjectives, huh?” he asked.

“M’s does that when she gets excited.”

“I like it.” Henry gave Emma back her phone. “You got a game tonight?”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “That’s why there are 275 e-mails on my phone. They play the Pacers tonight.”  
  
“You gotta go back?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “I probably should. I’ve got to get my stuff ready. Tweet out the pre-game coverage video.”  
  
“Sorry,” Henry muttered.

“For?”  
  
“Making you take a walk when you’ve got 275 e-mails and videos to post.”  
  
Emma waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. “No, this was important. I’m glad you showed up today.”

“Me too.”

Henry reached forward to hug Emma again and she smiled with the movement, thankful, once again, that this kid had landed in her life.

* * *

Emma nearly fell through the doorway into her apartment that night.

Overtime was _incredibly_ overrated.

Sure, it was dramatic – and it made the story about as easy to write as possible – but it lasted forever and Emma hadn’t gotten out of the Garden media workroom until nearly one in the morning.

She expected to find the apartment entirely deserted, or at least quiet, when she stumbled in, but was stunned to see both Mary Margaret and David sitting on the couch, TV on and half-eaten food sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret said softly, glancing up at Emma. “You’re late.”  
  
“I didn’t think you’d even be here.”  
  
“I had to work late too,” David said, lifting his head off the back of the couch where it had been resting. That explained the food. “We figured we’d wait up for you.”  
  
Emma made a face, not even trying to disguise her surprise. “You guys never do that.” She walked forward, picking up a half eaten piece of garlic bread off one of the plates and ripping it in half.

Mary Margaret eyed her, amusement flashing across her face and David tried to pull the food away from Emma. “That’s mine,” he whined.

“You clearly weren’t eating it.”  
  
“I might have been saving it.”  
  
“I just watched a four-hour basketball game, David. Give me some of your garlic bread.”  
  
“Fine.”

Mary Margaret and David were both silent for a few moments, two pairs of eyes glancing down the hallway towards Emma’s room at the same time. She made a face again and took another bite of garlic bread.

“What’s going on?” Emma mumbled.

“Nothing,” David said immediately. Mary Margaret didn’t answer.

“M’s,” Emma prompted, nudging her bag off her shoulder and leaning it up against the side of the couch.

“That doesn’t go there,” Mary Margaret said.

“I’ll bring it in my room once you tell me what’s going on. And why you’re waiting up for me.”  
  
“I told you, Emma, I had to work too,” David said. Emma ignored him.

“You might want to go in your room. Soon,” Mary Margaret said.  
  
“That was my plan eventually.”  
  
“Like now.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You need a reason to go in your room?”

Emma sighed and twisted her head, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder. “What aren’t you telling me?”  
  
“Killian is in your room.”  
  
“What?” Emma didn’t wait for Mary Margaret to answer, turning quickly and leaving her bag sitting next to the couch without a second thought. She swung her bedroom door open, expecting to find him sitting there – waiting for her to get home as well.

Except he wasn’t.

He was asleep.

And Emma’s breath rushed out of her in one loud noise and she closed the door behind her softly, toeing out of her shoes and sliding her arms out of her blazer.

He looked _young_ , hair falling across his forehead in a way that made Emma’s pulse thud slightly and she bit her lip, walking around the bed to lay down on the other, open side of the mattress. She had a dozen questions on her tongue, but she bit them all back, doing her best to lay down calmly, trying not to jostle the other, rather unexpected body next to her. Emma leaned back on the pillows, shutting her eyes lightly.

She didn’t move for a few seconds, trying to keep her breathing level, when she heard Killian sigh softly. He moved before she could – and it took just a moment for Emma to realize he was still very much asleep – rolling on his side and reach out to wrap his arm around her waist. Her breath hitched and she did her best to stay still, but she knew the moment he woke up, arm tightening slightly.

“Swan,” he mumbled into her shoulder blade, almost as if _he_ was surprised to find her there. In her bed. In her apartment. In New York.

“Yuh huh,” Emma answered.

His eyes snapped open and he shook his head slightly. Emma smiled at him, ducking her head slightly so they were on eye-level. “Hey,” Killian said softly.

“Hey?” Emma widened her eyes at him and he looked just a _bit_ sheepish at her finding him there. “That’s all you’re going to say?”  
  
“I was in the neighborhood.”  
  
“Liar.”

Killian laughed softly and kissed Emma, pulling her closer to him and pushing his fingers into her ponytail. One day he was going to kiss her and she wouldn’t feel like her entire body was melting or that she had lost her entire center of gravity.

Emma hoped that day never came.

It certainly wasn’t right now.

“Killian,” she muttered against his lips and he made some noise of disapproval.

“Just kiss me, please.”  
  
Emma wasn’t going to argue with that.

It was the _please_ that did it.

So she did. She kissed him, draping one leg over his calf and wrapping her hand around his neck. His own hands were flat on her back, like he was trying to make sure she didn’t disappear and he pushed his hips up, making Emma gasp.

Emma couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She just _needed_ and, it was rather obvious, so did Killian.

“M’s and David are in the living room,” Emma said, not quite sure how she managed to get the words out.

“Don’t care. I don’t care. I need you.”

Emma gaped at him, the desperation in his voice catching her off guard. If she didn’t need him – want him – so badly, she would have realized that he hardly even sounded like himself.

She didn’t.

Instead she pushed her hands underneath his t-shirt and felt him shiver when her fingers hit his skin. Killian’s hands finally moved off her back, gripping the dress she was wearing and tugging slightly, making his intent clear.

Emma moved back, yanking on the zipper with as much force as she could before she couldn’t pull it down any farther. She pulled her arms through the sleeves and pushed the material down to her hips before Killian took over, yanking it down until it was completely off. He threw it in the corner, leaving Emma in far less clothing than he had on and stared at her for a moment, lips brushing over her collarbone.

She sighed softly into the feeling – doing her best not to groan, loudly, and draw the attention of her roommates – and ran her hands down his sides, before pushing one of those hands forcefully past the waistband of his jeans.

Emma didn’t have to worry about making too much noise – he was going to be the problem. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled and Emma laughed softly.

“These need to come off,” she said forcefully, fingers popping the button of his jeans while the other hand stayed – quite firmly – where it was, otherwise occupied entirely.

Killian twisted his hips slightly, letting Emma pull the jeans off while he did his best to yank his t-shirt off as well.

It was a disaster.

Two people weren’t supposed to move like that at the same time they were also trying to touch every single inch of skin on each other’s bodies. It was just scientifically impossible. And Emma, somehow, found her hand practically twisted around while Killian’s leg had managed to work his way between her thighs.

She couldn’t breathe.

“God, I missed you,” he said before kissing her again, tugging lightly on her hair and pulling Emma towards him so she was all but laying on top of his body.  
  
“Just kiss me,” Emma answered, repeating his words back to her and earning a smirk before he did as instructed. His hands couldn’t seem to stop moving, fingers tracing up her spine and down her leg and across her waist.

“You. Are. Teasing,” she said, straining over the words.

“Not true, love. Savoring. There’s a very distinct difference.”

Emma did groan at that – as much from the words as the place his hand had finally found. No more teasing.

“Jesus,” Emma mumbled, trying not to collapse on top of him as she rolled her hips, falling into a rhythm with his movement.

Killian laughed darkly, mouth clamping down on the spot in between her neck and her shoulder, and Emma saw stars as she squeezed her eyes closed tightly. Her breathing was bordering on erratic now, but he didn’t give her even a second to come back to Earth before he was leaning to the side and grabbing for his wallet.

Emma peppered his face with kisses, trying to keep his focus and felt his eyes flash towards her. “You’re distracting me, love,” he said softly, ripping open the foil over her back, forced to lift his hands around Emma – her body was still very much on top of his.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Can’t multi-task?”  
  
“That seems like a challenge.”  
  
“Maybe it is.”  
  
Killian’s eyes widened and he rolled Emma over, hovering just above her as he leaned forward on his forearm. He made quick work of everything else – he was _good_ at multitasking – and pushed up at the same time he kissed her, swallowing her gasp with a smile against Emma’s lip.

This was different.

If Emma didn’t have so many other things on her mind – namely the way he managed to hold her up and push her down at the same time, melding his chest against hers in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t alone, she was _loved_ , to some sort of absurd degree – she would have been worried.

She would have been worried with the roughness of his movements, the way his right hand gripped her forearm a little tighter than normal or the way his left hand tugged lightly on the chain around her neck.

She didn’t notice any of that.

Instead, she met him movement for movement, lifting her hips up and pushing her hands in his hair to try and anchor his mouth to hers.

Killian didn’t say anything, but Emma could feel his breath picking up, the slightly frantic way his body moved against hers and her entire body tensed – that’s when he talked, repeating her name over and over while he pushed his forehead against her shoulder, before practically collapsing on top of her.

Emma brushed the hair off his forehead softly, fingertips ghosting over the back of his neck. Killian lifted his head up and kissed her lazily, moving his mouth slowly over hers and the corners of Emma’s lifted up at the small flip her stomach did at that.

That was normal.

That was him.

She must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because Emma woke with a jolt a few hours later, taking in the scene in front of her. There were clothes scattered across her bedroom floor and a hand wrapped very tightly around her waist.

Emma burrowed against the pillow underneath her and felt the hand move, drifting up her side to rest just below where she _still_ wasn’t wearing any clothes.

That was when she realized that Killian wasn’t asleep either – and probably never had been.

She twisted slightly, glancing over her shoulder and realized he had bags under his eyes, something Emma certainly hadn’t noticed before.

“Hey,” he said softly and Emma rolled her eyes.

“You need to come up with better greetings,” she said, rolling over so she was facing him. He had _clothes_ on. Or at least boxers.

That didn’t seem fair.

“When did you get up?”

“About five minutes after I knew you were asleep.”  
  
“Which was?”

Killian reached back behind him and grabbed his phone, tapping on the screen. “Three hours ago.”  
  
Emma made some kind of disgruntled noise. “And you’ve been awake that whole time.”  
  
“That’s not a question, Swan.”

“I wasn’t trying to make it one.”

He stared at her for a beat. “I wasn’t.”  
  
“You want to talk now or you going to attack me again?”

“Attack is a very strong word.”  
  
“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”  
  
“All those double negatives, Swan,” he muttered, smirking at her. “You’re going to confuse me.”  
  
“Please,” Emma sighed. “Like you couldn’t keep up.”  
  
“Your faith in me is overwhelming.”  
  
He said it quickly, practically brushing her off with a single sentence, but Emma _heard_ it, the cut in his voice and the sharpness of his tone. Her eyes snapped up towards his and, suddenly, she wasn’t tired at all anymore, didn’t care if it _was_ five in the morning.

They were going to talk.

“Why are you here?” Emma asked.

“Not happy to see me?”

She groaned. “Killian, come on, you know that’s not true. But you were supposed to be on a plane back from Baltimore tonight. Not asleep in my bed in New York City.”

“I told you, I was in the neighborhood.”  
  
“Yeah, and how did you end up in that neighborhood?”

“To be fair, I did get on a plane. Just not the one I was supposed to.”  
  
“And what do the Boston Red Sox have to say about that?”  
  
“They don’t care what plane I got on as long as I’m sitting behind a desk before the series opener on Sunday.”

“You never texted me back before,” Emma said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“I texted Henry back,” he answered. “Figured I’d go straight to the congratulatory source.”  
  
“And you didn’t think to let me know you were just going to fly to New York?”  
  
“What fun would that be?”

Emma bunched her hand into a small fist and nudged her hand against Killian’s shoulder. “Talk,” she said.

“I wanted to see you.”

“That’s it?”  
  
“That’s not enough?”  
  
“Sure it is,” Emma objected. “If I get to run away to you, then you can certainly run away to me. It might even be encouraged, but at some point you’ve got to let me know what you’re running away from. I told you.”  
  
“It’s not exactly happy,” Killian said slowly and Emma felt goosebumps form on her skin as he trailed his fingers down from her collarbone, palm flattening over the ring sitting on her chest.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear.”  
  
“You know what today’s date is?” he asked. “Or yesterday?”

“April 15th.”

“Yuh huh.”

Killian didn’t say anything else, just toyed with the ring, moving it between his fingers and staring at Emma. She widened her eyes in confusion, but he just waited for her to catch up. It felt like falling through ice when she finally did.

 _He died a month before I graduated_.

That’s what Killian told her those months before, sitting on a dock in Storybrooke with his hand wrapped up in Emma’s.

April 15th – a month before he graduated college.

“Killian,” Emma whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. His hand tightened around the ring again and he smiled at her sadly, the effect not quite reaching his eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” he repeated.

Emma surged up quickly, capturing his lips with hers before she could say anything stupidly sentimental. She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. She was there, _would_ be there, wasn’t afraid of the future she so desperately wanted _with him_.

She wanted to tell him that she knew, she knew what he had given up for her and that she had finally realized – she would have done the same for him, without a second thought.

She just kissed him instead.

“I love you,” Emma said softly.

Killian pulled her against him, lining up her body perfectly with his, and smiled again. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’m sorry for just showing up. I think I nearly scared Mary Margaret out of her mind when she saw me.”  
  
“You were just here?”

He nodded slowly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “I wasn’t really thinking straight. I didn’t even bring my bags with me. I think my stuff went with the team to Boston. I was going to go back get on the plane and just, well, go back, but I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking about Liam and how everything he did when he was alive was to make sure I had some kind of _good_ future and I couldn’t go to Boston.

All I wanted was to see you. So I bought a ticket to New York, took a cab from LaGuardia and camped out in front of your apartment. I was fairly determined to see you. Liam would have liked you,” he said, almost as an afterthought, and Emma slid her hand around the back of his neck, toying with the hair there.

“Yeah?” she choked out.

Killian nodded. “I know it. He would have liked you a lot. I think he’d be happy with this future.”  
  
“I am,” Emma said, answering the question he hadn’t really asked. Killian kissed her in response and Emma silently wondered if this was ever going to _stop_ , the way he moved and the things that he said that made her _believe_ so strongly.

She hoped not.

God, she had missed him.

He pulled away far sooner than Emma would have liked – there was no point in _not_ taking advantage of their current state of undress – and she whined in the back of her throat. Killian laughed softly, pushing a stray piece of hair back behind her ear towards the ponytail that had somehow managed to stay in tact.

“You are what, love?” he asked.

“Happy with this future. Or present. Either or.”  
  
“Me too.”

“You can fall asleep in my room whenever you want.”  
  
“Noted, Swan.”  
  
“Just maybe try not to terrify M’s next time.”  
  
“That seems fair.”

She kissed him softly and slowly and she could _swear_ she felt it in her toes.

Emma almost told him to _come home_ , to screw the entire Boston Red Sox organization and be with her, but she held back. He hadn’t said anything about the deal with Gold and she knew he wouldn’t, knew he wouldn’t let her think for a moment that his current state of emotional upheaval over how much he hated his job was even remotely her fault.

So she swallowed every single plea she had and pulled herself up slowly, swinging her leg over his side and pushing on his shoulders until he was flat on his back.

The ponytail had finally surrendered and Emma yanked the hair tie out, tossing it on the nightstand next to Killian’s wallet. The chain around her neck dangled underneath her and Emma saw Killian’s eyes fall on it, the ring twisting slightly in the air.

He lifted his eyes back up to hers, hand moving into her hair almost instinctively. “You are so beautiful,” he said softly and Emma’s pulse stuttered for a moment.

She didn’t say anything, practically stunned silent.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore – Killian had taken all of her preconceived relationship expectations and thrown them out the metaphorical window – but she couldn’t quite come to terms with someone _wanting_ her as much as he very obviously did.

Emma believed him and she trusted him and she _wanted_ him, but, somewhere deep down, she was still terrified of him realizing everything he was saying and everything he was promising and walking away.

She did her best to keep breathing and Killian smiled softly at her, almost as if he was reading her mind. He pulled her head down towards his and kissed her again, purposely, torturously slow, like he was trying to prove something.  

“I’m going to say something Swan,” he said, muttering in her ear and Emma just hummed in approval. “It’s going to be overwhelmingly romantic, so brace yourself for that.”

She laughed shakily, looking up at him and his absurdly blue and incredibly sincere eyes.

“You’re it, Emma,” he said. His voice didn’t shake. He didn’t look nervous. He just called her ‘Emma’ and looked at her like she was the most important person in the entire world. “You know that, right? I love you. So much I can’t think straight sometimes. And when I thought about going back to Boston today, every single part of my brain told me it wasn’t an option, the only option was to come home. To you. You’re it for me, love.”

That little kid that still, somehow, lived in the deep recesses of Emma’s mind disappeared and, for the first time in a very long time – _ever_ , her mind pointed out quickly – she didn’t worry about him leaving or walking away or even being in Boston.

She would get him to come home eventually, but right then she was going to prove him right. She was going to be _it_ , because he was exactly the same thing for her.

“I’m glad you came home,” Emma said softly, letting the word _home_ hang there for a moment.

“To you.”  
  
She nodded. “To me.”  
  
And then she kissed him – again – and trailed her hand down his leg until she worked a very particular sound of him. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked, grinning slightly at the affronted face he made.

“No,” Killian answered quickly. “Decidedly not.”

“What did you say you were doing before? Savoring?” Killian nodded. “Maybe we could work on that point a bit more. I can be kind of impatient you know.”

He let out a laugh – and Emma appreciated that it was just a bit shaky – before nodding again. “I think I’d like that,” he mumbled, pulling her back on top of him and taking his time.

He ended up staying the weekend.

He called the team on Saturday afternoon, pulling out the _I’m sick_ card, even adding a slightly scratchy voice for good measure and Emma laughed audibly in the background.

“Swan,” Killian said, glaring at her as he hung up the phone. “You can’t be that loud. They could have heard you.”  
  
“I’m fairly certain they know you’re not sick.”  
  
“It’s all about appearances, love.”  
  
“Of course,” Emma said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a sweater out of her closet. “You going to be ok by yourself?”

She had another game that night and while _she_ couldn’t simply pretend to be sick, she did feel bad about leaving Killian alone.

“We’ve talked about this, Swan,” he said evenly, leaning against the wall behind her bed like he belonged there. “I’m not going to be by myself. David and I are taking Henry hitting.”  
  
“He’s going to be so psyched to see you.”

Killian shook his head quickly. “I’m excited to see him. I want to see the acceptance letter in person.”  
  
“Were you ever going to tell me that you and David helped him?”  
  
He shrugged. “Probably. We were just kind of occupied with other things in December.”

Emma made a face and turned away, leaning into her closet to find her shoes. The buzzer sounded from downstairs and Emma stood up quickly, ready to move towards the living room when she heard Mary Margaret yell _I got it_.

The door squeaked when it opened and Emma heard a new set of feet in the living room. Killian jumped off her bed, squeezing his hand around Emma’s waist when he walked by and earning a glare in the process.

He just smirked at her.

Emma followed behind him, holding her heels in her hand as she walked into the living room. Her bag was still leaning against the couch where she had left it the night before and David and Henry were already sitting down, talking about the ACC’s baseball prospects for the next season.

“They just jumped into this conversation immediately,” Mary Margaret said quietly, smiling slightly as Henry all but leapt off the couch when he saw Killian. His own smile was wide and Killian only looked _slightly_ overwhelmed at the reception.

“I told him Henry would be psyched,” Emma muttered to Mary Margaret.

“Did he disagree?”  
  
“I think he’s worried Henry was mad about him leaving.”  
  
“Henry understood.”  
  
“All things I told Killian,” Emma said softly. His head moved up to glance at her when he heard his name and he just smirked even more.

“I’ve got to go,” Emma announced to no one in particular, grabbing her bag off the floor and hoping her laptop hadn’t _totally_ died.

“We still good for later?” David asked, glancing away from his phone where Emma noticed he had pulled up UVA’s baseball schedule.

“If this game doesn’t last 18 years then, yeah. I’ll just meet you at the bar.”  
  
“Bar?” Henry asked, perking up immediately. “Can I come?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Killian answered before Emma or Mary Margaret could even open their mouths.

Henry’s shoulders sagged noticeably. “Hit a bunch of home runs, kid,” Emma said, smiling at him.

“It’s a batting cage, Emma. I literally hit the ball against the wall.”  
  
“Metaphorical home runs then.” Henry rolled his eyes as Emma walked to the front of the couch and leaned over, brushing her lips across Killian’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
“Go, love,” he said. “We’ve got a batting cage reservation to make.”

Emma nodded once, hitching the strap up her bag up a bit higher and fighting off the rush of emotion she felt at how _comfortable_ all of this was. Mary Margaret tugged on the back of Emma’s sweater lightly, pulling her towards the door and it was only after her friend all but threw her out that she walked into the stairwell, pulling her credential out and heading towards the Subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guys. Guys. Thank you so much for every click, comment and kudos. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. If my planning is right we've got two more chapter updates next week and then an epilogue. Agh. I can't believe it's almost over. This is so long.


	45. Chapter 45

The game didn’t last 18 hours, but it felt like it had.

Emma was never good at patient.

Two stories, one live blog and more Twitter responses than she could count later, Emma yanked open the door to the bar on 9th Ave, a few blocks away from the Garden and jam-packed with the Saturday night, midtown crowd.

She groaned slightly at the people packed into the small space and scanned the faces in front of her, trying to find _one_ of the people who were supposed to be waiting for her.

“Emma!”

Her head snapped up suddenly and she saw Mary Margaret waving at her from the end of the bar, the three of them crammed around a table in the corner. Emma nodded once and started walking, trying to work her way through the crowd, but finding the task more difficult than she had bargained for.

She felt his hand in hers before she realized he was there and glanced up to find Killian suddenly next to her, pulling her along behind him.

People moved for him. Emma tried not to take that personally.

“Thanks,” she said softly and he grinned at her, raising one eyebrow up in a way that had Emma ready to pull him through the crowd as well – directly out the door.

“Couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, love,” he said, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders as they stopped in front of the table her friends had commandeered.

“Did you win?” David asked, nodding towards the several plates of bar food sitting on the table.

Emma grabbed a mozzarella stick and made some kind of noise in the affirmative. “Two in a row now.”  
  
“Practically a streak.”   
  
She scoffed and leaned her head against Killian’s shoulder. “Tired, Swan?” he asked.

Mary Margaret had a very specific look on her face and Emma just widened her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said sharply.

“Of course.”  
  
“How was hitting?” Emma asked, desperate to change the subject. Mary Margaret did her best to turn her laughter into a cough.

It was a valiant effort.

“Henry’s really good,” David answered. “Almost gave Killian a run for his money.”  
  
“You hit again?” Emma asked, turning quickly to stare at him in surprise.

Killian shrugged. “Henry asked.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”   
  
“It’s not a big deal, Swan.”   
  
“Yuh huh,” she repeated. Killian sighed and tilted his head, widening his eyes at her. “So did you hit too, David? Round out the trio?”   
  
“I did and it was only slightly embarrassing.”   
  
“You made contact a couple of times,” Killian said.

“Yeah, and you and Henry missed it a combined two times. Only slightly embarrassing.”  
  
“Well, at least you tried, David,” Emma said, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret – still trying to turn her laughter into a cough – and pushed a drink closer to her. “Thanks,” Mary Margaret said.   
  
“Sounded like you could use it.”   
  
“You’re the one who doesn’t have a drink.”   
  
“Nuh uh,” Killian interrupted, pointing to the extra glass in front of him. “That’s Swan’s.”   
  
“Not rum?” Emma asked, leaning up against him. His whole body seemed to tense under hers.

“Didn’t seem like that kind of night.”  
  
Emma smiled, taking a grateful drink of wine, ignoring the fact that he bought her drink before she even got there.

“I have political news,” Mary Margaret said after another long drink, finally finished with her coughing-laughter fit.

“Political?” Killian asked.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret said quickly, pushing on her shoulder slightly, the light of the bar flashing off the stone in her ring. “You didn’t tell him?”

“There have been a couple of other things going on,” Emma shrugged. Like running away from their respective problems and running towards each other and giving up jobs.

“What’s happening here?” Killian asked, the amusement in his voice obvious.

“There’s been a Storybrooke coup,” David supplied and Killian’s eyes widened.

“That so?”  
  
“We’re not using the word ‘coup,’” Mary Margaret pressed. Killian nodded seriously. “It’s a transfer of power within the family.”   
  
“Your family?” he asked.

He really was a good journalist.

“Exactly,” Mary Margaret nodded. “Regina is now the new mayor of Storybrooke.”  
  
“What happened to your stepmother?”   
  
“Stealing from the town,” Emma supplied and Killian made a noise in the back of his throat.

“No wonder the wedding was so fancy,” he said.   
  
“Exactly,” David agreed.

“So, what was your news, M’s?”  
  
“Regina pitched a fit in City Hall today apparently. My dad called me. Something about Marco and a gazebo they were building in the square and it not being _perfect_ . It lasted several hours, I guess. She was on the phone, trying to get Graham to arrest Marco because he had broken some sort of contract with her.”   
  
“Marco is 75 years old,” Emma pointed out.

“I don’t think she cared.”

“What ended the fit?”  
  
“Robin, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand it. She’s a totally different person around him. She actually almost seems nice when she’s with him.”  
  
“She loves him,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “That makes things different.”

“If you say so,” Emma mumbled and Killian kissed the top of her head. Point to him.

“I just did,” Mary Margaret continued. “Anyway, that’s not even the most exciting part of the conversation.”  
  
“There’s more?”

Mary Margaret nodded and Emma noticed she suddenly looked a little bit nervous. “I told my dad,” she said, taking another drink.

Emma blinked and glanced at David who looked just as nervous. “And that went…”

“Not great.”  
  
“I figured it wouldn’t.”   
  
“Apparently he and my mom have been talking,” David said. “About the wedding. Making plans. And lists full of suggestions from Cora.”   
  
“Cora?” Emma asked, nearly choking on the word. “What does Cora have to do with it?”

“She’s got some time on her hands now that she’s not _officially_ mayor anymore,” Mary Margaret continued, leaning against David’ side, like recounting all of this was slightly exhausting. “And, according to my dad, planning me some sort of big ceremony that would prove, once and for all, the joint efforts of the Blanchard-Mills family to take control of Storybrooke.”  
  
Emma laughed – loudly – practically doubling over with the sound. “Are you kidding me?” She asked, staring wide-eyed at Mary Margaret and David.

“Swan…” Killian muttered disapprovingly, glancing nervously around the table.

“Are you hearing this?” she asked. “This is absurd.”

“It is,” Mary Margaret agreed. “My dad, well, he’s not pleased with the small New York ceremony idea.”

“What about your mom?” Emma asked, looking at David.

“Surprisingly ok’ish with it,” he said. “She said she wanted to come.”

Emma made a face, sticking her lower lip out slightly and nodding in approval. “What are you going to do M’s?”  
  
“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Really?”

Killian laughed softly behind Emma, the movement of his chest hitting up against her beck, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you really that surprised, Swan?” he asked, looking up admiringly at Mary Margaret. “I’m not.”  
  
“Thanks,” Mary Margaret said, sounding sincere and reaching out to brush her hand over Killian’s forearm. He just shook his head dismissively as Emma leaned against him, hoping he’d understand what she was trying to do.

The hand on her waist made her fairly confident he had picked up on it.

“You’re really going to do it anyway, M’s?” Emma asked. “Just get married whenever?”

“That’s what we’re thinking.”  
  
“You know, whenever the wedding mood strikes,” David laughed. “We’re going to get the license later this week.”   
  
“When exactly do you think the wedding mood would strike?” Emma asked.

“You can never be too sure.”  
  
Emma laughed and finished her drink, feeling _something_ settling in the pit of her stomach. Killian tightened his arm around her shoulders and kissed her head again lightly, chuckling softly as well and everything was so goddamn perfect that Emma couldn’t quite come up with the right word for it all.

But then Mary Margaret smiled at her knowingly, muttering something about how the wedding mood would _only_ strike when Emma was wearing blue because they were at least sticking to a color scheme in this spontaneity and, suddenly, she knew exactly what she was feeling.  

Happy. She was happy.

“You alright, love?” Killian asked several hours – and a totally inappropriate number of drinks – later.

Emma nodded, only wobbling slightly as she stepped out of the heels she had somehow managed to keep on all night. “Of course,” she said, taking a few steps back and nearly collapsing on the bed, almost falling on top of him.

“We should have made sure you drank more water,” he said, fingers trailing up her side and finding their way under the bottom of her shirt easily.

“That’s your job.” Killian laughed softly and turned his head to look at Emma, one eyebrow perfectly raised in unspoken question. “Ok,” Emma sighed. “That’s also my job. But maybe I wanted to have a good time before you left.”

“Did you?”  
  
“Did I what?”   
  
“Have a good time?”   
  
Emma smiled, brushing her hand over his cheek, thumb trailing slowly over his lower lip. “I did,” she said softly. “Could have a better time though.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Killian sighed, leaning his head against Emma’s palm and kissing softly against the inside of her hand. “I think you may have had a considerable amount to drink, love.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m pretty positive we could have a pretty good time.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. Emma seized the opportunity and pulled him towards her, kissing him – hard. He froze for a moment and then he made some sort of _ridiculous_ noise that sounded like a _growl_ and Emma was pinned underneath him, Killian’s legs on either side of her hips.

“Told you,” she muttered quietly and he shook his head again before pressing his face into the crook of her neck and kissed so hard she was positive he was going to leave a mark. In fact, Emma was fairly certain he was trying to. “I win,” Emma added, moving her hips instinctively and working another groan out of him when her body moved against Killian’s.

“Stop talking, Swan,” he mumbled.

She did and he made sure she did.

For several minutes.  

He pulled back slightly, staring at her and _God_ his eyes were blue. And Emma was overwhelmed and she didn’t want him to go back to Boston, didn’t want him to leave the apartment or her bed.

She also didn’t say any of that out loud.

Killian did.

“I don’t want to leave,” he mumbled, barely saying the words.

Emma tried to smile, but she knew it wasn’t even remotely convincing. “I don’t want you to either,” she said. “But you have to go.”  
  
“I know.”   
  
“Make sure your bag made it back to Boston.”

“I’m sure it did.”  
  
“And you’ll be back soon,” Emma continued. “You play at Yankee Stadium in like two weeks.”   
  
“I don’t, Swan,” Killian said and she would have heard the slight bite in his voice even if she wasn’t lying two inches away from her.  
  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”   
  
“Don’t be.” Killian muttered. “I knew what you meant. I just...like I said, it wasn’t what I was expecting.”   
  
“What exactly were you expecting?” Emma asked, fingers tracing over the veins in his left hand and Killian looked at her with eyes wide, the emotion obvious there.

“Something.”  
  
“Not very specific.”   
  
“I don’t know that I have a more specific answer.”   
  
Emma didn’t really need one. She knew what he expected – or what he hoped for, something to _work_. Something to not feel like a disappointment after he had given up so much for it. He had hoped for a little bit of fair from a world that seemed determined to give him exactly the opposite.

“You’ll be back soon,” Emma repeated and Killian nodded, head dropping back against her shoulder as he kissed her, just underneath where his lips landed. “And I’ll be in Boston for the playoffs. I’ll see you so much you’ll get sick of me.”  
  
“Not possible,” he said into her neck, still kissing her and Emma was getting decidedly distracted. “Plus,” Killian added. “I’ll be back for graduation.”   
  
“Whose?” she asked, mind only focused on what he was doing with his mouth and the marks he was undoubtedly leaving there.

“Henry’s, of course.”  
  
Emma pulled her head away and gaped at him. “What? Really?”   
  
“Yeah, he asked while we were at the Piers today.”   
  
“And you said?”   
  
“That I’d come back. Of course.”   
  
“You won’t have a game?”   
  
“ _You_ won’t have a game, Swan? That’s right in the middle of the playoffs.”

“I’ve been guaranteed an afternoon graduation,” Emma said. “Playoff games happen at night. Always.”  
  
Killian laughed softly and nodded. “You’ve got it all figured out.”   
  
“Do you? You’d really come back for that?”

He made a face at her. “Come on, Swan,” he sighed. “I think I’ve proved I care. Why wouldn’t I come back? I’m entitled to days off.”

“And secret not-so-sick days.”  
  
“That too.”   
  
He wriggled his eyebrows at her and Emma let out some sort of ridiculous, _girlish_ giggle. Killian beamed at her. “You know what Monday is?” he asked.

“The last game of the homestand?”  
  
“You’ll have been at _The Record_ for a year.”   
  
“You remember the actual date?” Emma asked, surprise washing over her before she, suddenly, realized he was wrong. “Wait, that’s not right.”   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“I started at _The Record_ on the 21st.”   
  
“That was your _first_ day,” Killian said. “But you interviewed on the 18th.”   
  
That was right. Of course.

Emma’s mouth dropped open suddenly and she bit her lip tightly. “A year,” she said softly. “That’s right.”  
  
“I know it is.”   
  
“Why do you remember that?”   
  
“Do you not?”   
  
“No, of course I do,” Emma said. And she did. Vividly.

“Then why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“It wasn’t your interview.”

“Yeah, but it was also the day you nearly ran me over outside an elevator,” he laughed, picking up right where he left off with the kissing. Emma bit her lip again. “Seems like kind of an important date.”  
  
“I think so.”   
  
“Then we’re very much on the same page.” He tugged on the chain around her neck lightly, forcing Emma to turn her head and look at him. She nearly pulled back when she met his eyes. He looked certain. “I love you,” he said seriously and Emma’s stomach flipped.

“I love you too.”  
  
“I’m glad you almost ran me over, Swan.”   
  
He spent the rest of the night proving how glad he was.  

* * *

She didn’t do anything when he left.

Didn’t tell him to stay or that she hated the entire Boston Red Sox organization with enough fire to probably light an entire Yankee Candle store.

She just kissed him – standing on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, again, and _that_ wasn’t lost on either of them – and told him she loved him and watched him get in a cab back to LaGuardia.

And then Emma went to work on Monday and tried to pretend like everything was fine.   
  
It almost worked.

That was, until, Will Scarlet showed up at her desk with a box full of letters, leaning them on the edge of her desk and staring at her expectantly.

“Good weekend?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Emma said softly. “Real good.”  
  
Will made a face, like he was waiting for her to continue, but Emma didn’t say anything else. Instead she changed the subject. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh!” Will exclaimed, like he had forgotten what he was holding. “I come bearing gifts.”  
  
“Gifts from the United States Postal Service?”   
  
“Exactly.”

He hooked his leg up slightly, balancing the box on his knee and reached in to grab an oversized envelope, holding it out in front of Emma. She grabbed it, lowering her eyebrows and staring at the label on the front.

_Emma Swan ℅ The New York Record_

_300 W 57th St, New York, NY_

_The NYS Press Association_

“The Press Association?” Emma asked, to no one in particular.

Will shrugged. “I don’t know why they’d lie on the return address label. Open it and see what it’s about.”

Emma scoffed under her breath, but ripped open the edge of the envelope as well – it was ridiculously heavy. There wasn’t a letter inside. Emma’s hand hit something far more solid than paper. In fact, it felt a bit like wood.

She lowered her eyebrows and dropped the envelope on her desk – landing with a soft _thud_ – and yanked out the contents. It was a plaque.

“What the hell?” she muttered slowly, staring at the words on it.

_New York State Press Association_

_1st Place_

_Emma Swan_

_Feature Writing – Sports_

“What is this?” Emma asked, glancing up at Will. He shrugged.

“Looks like an award.”

“For what?”

“Your name is on it, Emma. I’d wager pretty good money it’s for you.”  
  
“But it says feature writing,” she argued. “I don’t understand.”   
  
“You wrote a feature,” Will said slowly, staring at her like she was a little bit crazy. “Several of them. About Henry.”   
  
“And won an award?”

Emma stared at the plaque, running her fingers over the letters and trying to figure out how exactly this had landed on her desk. Will picked up the envelope and shook it slightly, catching the thin program that fell out.

“There’s more,” he said, holding the papers in his hands. “Looks like you missed out on a ceremony.”  
  
“What?”

Will nodded, looking at the pamphlet again. “Last month apparently. Look, there’s a date.”  
  
Emma grabbed the papers out of his hand and gaped at them. March 10th. “Nobody said anything about this,” she muttered, tossing the program on top of the award. “Why wouldn’t anyone say anything?”   
  
“Maybe they didn’t know?” Will asked and Emma appreciated his attempts to be positive.

No – that wasn’t true.

They knew. They just didn’t care.

Emma felt the anger jolt through her system quickly and she was standing up before she even realized it, intent on walking into Jefferson’s office and demanding to know what was going on.

“Hey, wait a second,” Will said quickly. “Before you go off on a yelling-binge, which you’re totally entitled to, don’t you have to get nominated for these things?”  
  
She blinked once and tilted her head, glancing back down at the award sitting on her desk. “That’s true,” she said slowly, sinking back into her chair and yanking her hair over her shoulder forcefully. “Who would do that?”

Will rolled his eyes are her. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Are you?”

“Emma, please tell me you are not that dense.”  
  
“Rude.”   
  
“Killian did it,” Will said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Obviously.”

“You think?”

Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper and she couldn’t quite understand what exactly her heartbeat was doing – it couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to speed up or slow down. She ran her hands over the award again, tracing her name and _knew_ , Will was right.

Killian absolutely did this.

“Of course I think that,” Will said, rolling his eyes again. He pushed the award closer to Emma so it was just a few inches away from her and eyed her seriously. “You better let him know you won.”

“And didn’t know about the ceremony.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe don’t mention that part,” Will muttered, rolling back on his heels. “He won’t like that part.”

Emma made a face and shrugged, reaching forward to grab her phone, but was interrupted before she could even touch the screen.

“What you got there?” Jefferson asked, appearing at Emma’s desk and glancing between her and Will.

“An award,” Will supplied quickly. “For Emma.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah,” Jefferson said. “I heard that was coming.”   
  
“You knew about this?” Emma asked. Jefferson shrugged. “And you didn’t think to say anything about it?”   
  
“You had a game that day. I figured you wouldn’t have gone to the ceremony. Didn’t seem all that important.”   
  
Emma sighed – he was right. She wouldn’t have gone if she had a game, but she still would have liked to have known what was going on. Will, however, seemed more than a little frustrated with the answer.

“That’s bullshit,” Will said sharply. Emma glanced at him warningly. He didn’t stop. “And you know it.”

“Excuse me?” Jefferson’s voice snapped quickly and Emma, suddenly, realized she’d never seen him mad. She’d seen him excited, bordering on hyper, but this was something else all together. This was _threatening_.

Emma looked at Will again, trying to get him to stop without actually telling him to, but he didn’t pick up on it.

He looked just as angry as Jefferson did.   
  
“That. Is. Bullshit,” Will repeated, pausing dramatically between each word. “You should have told Emma what was going on. She deserved that.”   
  
“It was my decision not to. She needed to keep focused on the Knicks.”

“Please,” Will sighed. “That’s even more bullshit. As if Emma wouldn’t stay focused on the Knicks. You knew she wouldn’t have gone to that ceremony if she had a game. Even if she didn’t have a game. Have you ever even met Emma? She’s determined to not be the center of attention.”

“That’s not any of your business, Scarlet,” Jefferson said, taking a step towards Will and crossing his arms slowly.

“Emma’s my friend. She deserved to know about that award because she put in a shit ton of work for that award. Both her _and_ Killian.”

Emma widened her eyes and did her best not gasp dramatically. No one mentioned Killian there anymore – least of all in front of Jefferson.

And Will knew it.

It just appeared he didn’t care.

“That’s what it is isn’t it?” Will asked. “Emma and Killian worked on that story and you couldn’t stand that they got acknowledged for it. That’s awfully low, even for a guy who came in here as one of Gold’s lackey's.”

Jefferson laughed.

He actually laughed and Emma wasn’t quite she understood what was going on. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” Jefferson asked.

“Certainly seems like it,” Will said.

“Well, you’re not wrong. But here’s the thing, I _couldn’t_ acknowledge it. You think Gold didn’t know about that story? And the award? And how _much_ Killian and Emma worked together on it? He knew all of it. Hated it too. So when the list came out, he told Isaac we weren’t going to do _anything_ about it.”

“Gold said that?” Emma asked, wondering how one man could hold onto a grudge for so long that he could care about one award from the New York State Press Association.

Jefferson nodded. “I think he hates you just a bit.”  
  
“Yeah, I picked up on that.”   
  
“What am I missing?” Will asked, leaning against the side of Emma’s desk in a way that certainly did _not_ make her heart clench.

“A lot,” Emma muttered, leaning her head back against the top of the chair.

“Gold would have hated you no matter what,” Jefferson continued, ignoring Will’s question. “But he despised you – and this whole department for that matter – because of what Killian did.”

Will opened his mouth, no doubt to ask what he had missed again, but Emma cut him off. “Why did he listen?” she asked, staring at Jefferson intently. “Why wouldn’t he have just fired us as soon as Killian left?”  
  
“Fire us?” Will said loudly and Emma made a face.

“You don’t know?” Jefferson asked, looking at Emma expectantly.

“No one knows.”  
  
“But you do?”   
  
“Milah told me, weeks ago, before they left.”   
  
Jefferson nodded slowly and Emma tried to smile. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Will pleaded.

Emma bit her lip, closing her eyes slightly and tried to take a deep breath.

She hadn’t told anyone, not even Mary Margaret, and wasn’t sure she could actually say the words out loud without displaying some sort of entirely inappropriate workplace emotion.

“Emma?” Will asked again and she just shook her head.

“Killian left,” Jefferson said.

“I know that.”  
  
“He left because he made a deal with Gold.”   
  
“But he had a job,” Will argued. “He had everything all set up to go to Boston. We _talked_ about it. So I could sublet his apartment. Sorry, Emma,” he added as an afterthought and she shook her head again.

“He had all of that because of the deal,” Jefferson said.   
  
“Stop dancing. Just tell me what’s going on.”   
  
“Killian told Gold he’d leave, walk away from the paper and New York if he promised not to touch the staff,” Emma said softly, hand resting flat on the plaque on her desk. “Gold would have fired all of us, brought in his own people, made sure the sports department was _his_ and Killian made sure he didn’t.”   
  
“Seriously?”   
  
It was a wholly underwhelming response, but Emma laughed at it  – it was the only response she could come up with as well. She nodded.

“So then, Emma’s right,” Will continued, looking at Jefferson. “Why wouldn’t he just get rid of us as soon as Killian was on a train to Boston? There was nothing to make sure he held up his end of the bargain. Doesn’t seem like the most honorable man around.”  
  
“He’s not,” Jefferson admitted quickly before glancing around the office quickly, almost as if he were making sure the place wasn’t bugged. “But he believes in the deal. He wouldn’t go back on a bargain, no matter what.”

“Huh.”

Jefferson nodded quickly and glanced at Emma again. “Does Killian know that you know what he did?”  
  
“No,” she answered, shaking her head.

“You should probably tell him.”  
  
“You giving out relationship advice now?” Will asked, laughing.

“Relationship?”  
  
“Thanks, Will,” Emma muttered. “You really didn’t know? I thought Kathryn told everyone in the entire building. ”   
  
“Know what?”   
  
“Emma’s dating Killian,” Will answered quickly. “Has been since she started here.”   
  
“That’s not true!” Emma objected, Will just looked at her, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. “Well, not entirely true.”

Jefferson pressed his lips together tightly, like he _finally_ understood something and stared at Emma for several long minutes before saying anything. “Did you know that _The Writer_ is hiring?” he asked.

“What?”  
  
“ _The Writer_ is hiring,” Jefferson repeated. “Right now. Looking for a columnist I heard.”   
  
“What else have you heard?” Emma asked.

“That they were thinking of promoting from within, but the sports editor there is nervous that none of his writers are up to par.”  
  
“What exactly are you suggesting?”   
  
Emma’s pulse was doing that _thing_ again and there were two dozen thoughts racing through her mind at once. Will looked at her expectantly and Emma met his gaze with wide eyes and nervous smile.

“I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting,” Jefferson said, finally uncrossing his arms and taking a step away from Emma’s desk. She nodded slowly. “And I think you should take your award home with you. It doesn’t belong here.”

Jefferson walked away, turning on his heels and moving back towards his office calmly – it may have been the first time Emma had seen him looked calm.

That was unexpected.

“You going to do it?” Will asked, sharply, shaking Emma out of her thoughts.

She nodded quickly. “Yeah,” Emma said, no trace of question in her voice. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.”

* * *

Emma waited until she was home, until she was sitting on her bed and by herself. She didn’t want the entire _New York Record_ office – or any of the tourists on 8th Avenue – to be around when she told Killian about _The Writer_.

Or the other thing.

Because if Emma was being honest with herself, she wasn’t certain he’d be all too happy to find out that she knew about _the other_ _thing._

She sighed softly, leaning against the wall behind her bed – where Killian had been the day before – and bit her lip tightly, steeling herself for what she needed to do.

It only rang once before he picked.  

“Swan,” he said and Emma could hear the smile in his voice. That might make this easier. Or worse when it blew up in her face.

God, she should have talked to him when he was here.

This would be easier if he was here.

“Hey, you got a second to talk?” she asked.

“Of course.”  
  
“Like several seconds?”   
  
“I have more than several seconds, Swan. Talk.”  Emma took another deep breath and pressed her teeth against her lip. She didn’t talk. “Swan?” Killian prompted. “You alright?”  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
“Possibly?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Alright,” he said slowly, dragging out the word and Emma could _see_ him raising one of those stupid eyebrows as if he _was_ standing right in front of her. “What’s going on, love?”   
  
“A couple of different things.”   
  
“Are you being evasive on purpose or just trying to drive me slightly insane?”   
  
“No,” Emma objected quickly. “I’m kind of hoping this can help. Before I get to the other things.”

“Good news before bad, then?”  
  
“Something like that.”   
  
“The only way this conversation is going to work is if you actually talk, Swan.” Emma groaned and leaned her head against the wall again with much more force than she anticipated – it hurt.

“I know,” she said, nodding once to herself. “Ok, ok. So first thing – I got my award.”

“What award?”  
  
“The Press Association.”   
  
“You won?”

The pride in his voice was almost _too_ much.

It sent shivers down her spine and made her smile and believe and _want_ and Emma started talking quicker without even realizing she was doing it.

“I know you did that,” she said. “I know you nominated me for that and it was ridiculous of you and totally unnecessary.”

“Not totally, Swan. You deserved that. And 18 other awards.”  
  
“Eighteen?”   
  
“At least.”   
  
“Well, I’m glad I got it then.”   
  
“Why wouldn't you have gotten it?”

“I didn’t know I won until the plaque ended up on my desk this afternoon. Will said it came in the mail.”  
  
Killian was silent for a moment – like he was processing what Emma had just told him – and then suddenly he was talking quickly as well, only _he_ was angry.

“What the hell do you mean it came in the mail?”  
  
“No one told me about the ceremony. Or the nomination,” she tacked on.

“Yeah,” Killian sighed. “Well, I wasn’t really planning on not being there when I sent in your nomination. I figured I’d be the one to let you know.”  
  
“That brings me to my next point, actually,” Emma said, cutting him off before he could dive into a whole speech of how much Emma deserved to know what was going on.

“Does it?”

Emma smiled to herself – she had him hooked.

Killian was a journalist, a _good_ journalist, and, by default, he wanted answers. He was also far too curious for his own good.

She was fairly certain he hadn’t entirely forgotten about being angry, but the curiosity was too much to overlook.

He wanted answers.

“It does,” Emma confirmed. “Because while I was putting Jefferson through the wringer for not telling me about the awards ceremony…”  
  
“As you should,” he interrupted.

“Hey!”  
  
“Sorry,” Killian muttered and Emma bit back a laugh at his not-quite-repentant tone. “Keep going, Swan.”

“Jefferson said that Gold didn’t want me to know, didn’t want anyone on the sports floor to know anything about anything. That he’s been trying to cut us off so to speak. That’s why Jefferson has been so crazy. He’s trying to live up to Gold’s expectations and demands and whatever and still put together a section.”  
  
“Where are you going with this, Swan?”   
  
“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Killian didn’t say anything, but Emma heard a door close loudly in the background and wondered if he had actually slammed it shut. She winced at the noise, shutting her eyes lightly and pulling the ring out from underneath her shirt.

It took several seconds before he finally answered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan,” he said and the effort to keep his voice even was calm, even across the phone and several hundred miles.

“Liar,” Emma whispered, eyes still shut and legs scrunched up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and tried not to breathe too loudly.

“I don’t,” Killian repeated.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said sharply, eyes snapping open quickly. “I know. I know what you did.”  
  
“Then I don’t think you need me to tell you.”   
  
“It’d be nice, at some point in this relationship, for you to actually be honest with me.”

Killian’s breath hitched in the phone and sighed.

She hadn’t meant to say that.

At all.

She shouldn’t have said that, knew it wasn’t true – that he had told her about some of the deepest, darkest parts of himself and let her into nearly every corner of his life. _But_ , there was still some part of Emma that hated the parts he kept to himself, the things he felt like he _had_ to do without her.

“I’m being honest with you,” he said softly, practically studying every word as he said it. “This isn’t about you.”

“It’s about you and Gold.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t include me? Or my job? Or the bargain you made for that job?”  
  
He was silent for a few more moments and Emma heard him take a deep breath, God, she could hear him tapping his fingers on his desk.

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
Emma hadn’t expected to get so mad. She expected to tell him what she knew, to explain how she found out and that he could come home. _The Writer_ would hire him. She knew they would. He probably wouldn’t even have to interview.

 _The Writer_ would lose its collective mind if Killian Jones came to write for them.

“Are you?” Killian snapped back and now Emma wasn’t mad, she was _furious_.

She leapt off the bed and started pacing, moving across the small floor space in her room. “My job, Killian,” Emma said, voice straining on the syllables. “My job. And my byline. You don’t get to decide how that works.”

“I wasn’t just going to let him throw you all out,” he said, voice practically cutting into Emma. “Especially you. Not when I could do something about it.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
“It didn’t seem important.”   
  
“What?” Emma sighed, leaning against the door and sliding down it slowly until she was sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out in front of her.

“He would have done it, Swan. He told me. He would have gotten rid of me and then he would have gone through the staff and he would have enjoyed it. But if I left, if I gave it up, he said he’d keep the staff and he’d keep you on the Knicks beat and he’d leave you alone.”  
  
“I can take care of myself,” she said weakly, not entirely certain what she was arguing about anymore.

“I know that, love,” he said softly. “But I couldn’t come up with a reason not to do it. Not if it protected you.”  
  
“You traded your job for me?”

“Yeah.”  
  
Emma’s breath practically flew out of her lungs and she leaned her head forward, resting her forehead on her leg. “I can fix this,” she said after what felt like several hours of silence.

“What?”

“I can fix this,” Emma repeated. “That was my final point.”  
  
“There’s not anything to fix, Swan. It’s not like _The Record_ is going to hire me back any time soon.”   
  
“Not _The Record_ . _The Writer_ . Jefferson told me today that they’re looking for a new columnist.”   
  
“They’ll promote from within.”   
  
“No,” Emma objected quickly. “That’s what I thought too, but Jefferson said that he heard they were nervous about the talent of their writers. Honestly. They’re opening up the search. Bringing in resumes. Everything.”   
  
“And where exactly do I fall into this plan?”   
  
Emma widened her eyes in exasperation and did her best not to audibly sigh into the phone – he was frustrated enough already.

“Killian,” she said. “Come on.”  
  
“I’m asking you a genuine question, Swan.”   
  
“They’d hire you,” she continued quickly. “They’d give you a column and a job and you could tell the entire Boston Red Sox organization to go fuck itself.”

He laughed softly and Emma’s entire body tensed. “You could come home,” she added.

“I don’t know that it’s all that simple, love.”

“It absolutely could be and you know it. _The Writer_ would have a conniption if your resume showed up in the pile. They’d throw every other one away without even looking at them. You know that.”

“Swan…”

“What?”  
  
“You can’t count on that just happening.”  
  
“I already am,” Emma said. “This could work. It _would_ work _._ Why don’t you think so?”  
“You’re far too confident in me,” Killian answered.  
  
“That wasn’t an actual answer to my question.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“Don’t you want to come home?”  
  
“Of course I do, Swan. But I told Gold I wouldn’t write in New York again. Said I’d leave the city and let him take over.”  
  
“He’s gone,” Emma said quickly.

“What?”  
  
“He’s gone. Him and Milah. They left weeks ago. She said he wanted to go back home. And he was having an affair with one of the news writers, so he kind of had to leave. Seemed he didn’t want that news to break.”

“She said?” Killian repeated, voice soft.

“I met Milah.”  
  
“She’s the one who told you, isn’t she? About what happened with Gold?”   
  
“Yeah.”

“You said they left weeks ago,” Killian said and Emma could hear the accusation in his voice as if it were sitting right next to her on her bedroom floor. “You’ve known what I’ve done for weeks.”  
  
“Don’t turn this around on me,” Emma answered hotly, anger flaring up quicker than expected. “I was waiting to see if you’d ever get around to telling me.”   
  
“Ran out of patience then?”   
  
“You know me, not very good at waiting around.”

“That’s true, Swan,” he said. There was a sound on the other end of the line – like he was moving the phone to lean against his shoulder. He was rubbing his hand. Emma knew it. “I’m sorry for not telling you, for whatever that’s worth.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have given up.”   
  
“It wasn’t giving up. It was a calculated bargain.”   
  
“That you decidedly got the short end of.”   
  
“That’s not true,” Killian argued. “I’ve read every single one of your stories, love, and they’ve gotten better every time. I wasn’t going to let you risk that. Not for me. Not because of what I’d done before.”   
  
“I would have,” Emma whispered.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“What are you going to do?”  
  
“About?”   
  
“You know what about.”  
  
“I don’t know, Swan,” Killian sighed. Emma groaned in answer and that worked a small, sad laugh out of him.

“It could work,” Emma argued.   
  
“It could not work too.”   
  
“You’re not usually this pessimistic.”

“Only when it comes to myself.”  
  
“Then let me help. Killian, let me help. Just, fuck Gold and fuck the Boston Red Sox and come home and write a column and be happy. You deserve to be happy.”   
  
“So do you Swan.”   
  
“I am,” she said without hesitation.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yes, because of you. I got this job because of you. I got the Knicks because of you and I kept them because of you. So let me help with this. Come home.”

Killian laughed quietly – a shaky noise that made Emma’s heart clench tightly – and sighed again, but this one wasn’t sad. He sounded almost like he was _accepting_.

“I’ll text August tomorrow,” he said.

“For real?”  
  
“For real.”

Emma leaned her head back against her door again and smiled, pressing her lips together tightly and nodding slowly. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and the epilogue and this insanely long, incredibly wordy story is done. Agh. Thank you so much for every single click, comment and kudos. I can't possibly tell you how much it has all meant to me. There are more stories (Oh, God, that's plural) written already and half a dozen more in my head and you're all welcome to come flail with me on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	46. Chapter 46

“I like this color,” he said softly, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms tightly around Emma’s waist. She leaned into him, closing her eyes for a moment to just  _ feel _ him there with her. 

It had been  _ weeks _ since Killian had been in New York and only a little less since they had seen each other, a quick one-night stop in Boston on an elongated Knicks road trip early in May. And they hadn’t really talked about  _ it _ – the resume he had sent in at the end of April and the text message conversations that had talked about a possible job, but no guarantee. 

They were nothing if not good at worrying in silence. 

Because Emma was certainly worried. 

And she was positive Killian was too. 

He just would never admit it. 

So neither would she. 

They would wait. And they would hope. 

“I stole it from Elsa,” Emma muttered, resting the back of her head on his shoulder and she felt Killian’s lips brush behind her ear, pulling her hair away from her shoulder. 

“I’ll thank her at some point,” he said, laughing and leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I like it. A lot.”  
  
Emma realized that, glancing over her shoulder and raising her eyebrows at him. “I think I picked up on that actually,” she said, pressing her body further back against hers. 

“Swan,” Killian said, his voice dangerously low. 

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“You’re playing dirty.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
Killian’s hand gripped tightly against her hip and Emma bit back a sigh, turning quickly so she was facing him. His arms didn’t drop once. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly. 

He didn’t say anything back and, for a moment, Emma was almost frustrated with the lack of a response. But then she realized he was too busy  _ staring _ at her or, more specifically, the neckline of her dress. 

It wasn’t  _ low _ really – they were going to a high school graduation for Christ’s sake – but it wasn’t hiding the chain she had around her neck either. In fact, it was very clearly showing the chain and the ring. 

One side of Killian’s mouth ticked up into a small smile and his hand came up to rest on the ring hanging over the dress. “Incredibly dirty,” he muttered again before ducking his head and kissing her, soundly. 

Emma wasn’t certain how long they stayed like that – a few minutes or possibly several full days – before she heard a very pointed laugh coming from the doorway. 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret called, sounding like this wasn’t the first time she had said her name. “If we don’t leave now we’re going to be late.”  
  
Killian pulled away before Emma did, laughing softly at the whine she made in the back of her throat. “We’ll be right there, Mary Margaret,” he said and she nodded at them once, eyes filled with amusement before walking back towards the living room. 

“What was it you were saying about playing dirty?” Emma said, turning away to grab her shoes from the other corner of the room. 

“I’m not sure what it is you’re implying, love?”  
  
“ _That_ was dirty,” she said, stepping into the heels and crossing her arms. “Bordering close to decidedly unfair.”  
  
Killian didn’t even try and disguise his laughter, leaning his head back and laughing loudly. “That was my plan all along, Swan,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers as he led them out of the room. “And, for the record, I’m glad that I’m here too.”

They weren’t Henry’s  _ official _ family so they didn’t get actual tickets to the graduation ceremony, but the four of them found space in the back of the Beacon High School auditorium, making it in with a few minutes to spare. 

“He’s not even going to be able to see us back here,” David said softly as the senior class started to file in, filling up the front rows of seats. 

“He knows we’re here,” Mary Margaret countered. “And we’ll see him after.”

“That’s not nearly as exciting.”  
  
“Wait,” Emma cut in. “There he is.” She pointed to Henry – in the middle of two other girls – head down as he walked slowly towards his designated seat. “God, he looks thrilled to be here doesn’t he?”  
  
“It’s a long ceremony,” David said. “Especially when you’re just waiting to walk across a stage.” 

“Here, wait a second,” Killian muttered, waving his left hand quickly to silence the two of them. He lifted his right hand to his mouth and made some kind of impossibly loud noise that might have been a whistle and also might have actually split Emma’s ear drum in half. 

“Jesus Christ, Killian,” Emma muttered. “Warn me next time…”  
  
“Look,” he interrupted. 

Henry lifted his head, eyes darting back towards the sound where the four them were sitting. His eyes widened when he saw them and he flashed a smile at them, waving quickly and practically bouncing on his feet in the process. The girl behind him almost collided directly with his back. 

The four of them must have looked absolutely ridiculous, Emma thought, as each of them raised their hands to wave back quickly. Henry laughed, shaking his head and the girl behind him pushed his shoulder to get him to start walking again. 

“Pushy isn’t she,” Emma mumbled. 

“Literally,” Killian laughed, slinging his arm around her shoulders in the process. 

“Where did you learn to make that awful sound?”

“That’s what our high school coach used to do when we’d run,” he said, still laughing. “I don’t think he bought a whistle once while I was at school.”

“It’s awful.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“Shhh, guys, it’s starting,” Mary Margaret said.  _ Teacher voice _ . Emma widened her eyes at Killian and he made a face. 

“You’re going to get me in trouble, Swan,” he said, whispering the words in her ear and sending a chill down her spine. 

“That’s probably true,” she answered, leaning into his side as the first speaker took the stage. 

David was right – it had been a long ceremony. 

Impossibly long, as far as Emma was concerned, but it was worth it when Henry walked across the stage. She wondered silently where his foster family was and realized, almost as quickly, that she didn’t care. 

His people were sitting in the very last row in the auditorium and they were the loudest cheers of anyone at the entire graduation. Henry had no more than shaken the principal’s hand and flipped the tassel on his cap that all four of them stood up – in very impressive, unpracticed unison – and screamed their respective lungs out, clapping loudly and shouting. Mary Margaret and Emma even jumped a bit. 

Henry laughed – although the stage was too far away for any of them to hear it – and shook his head, beaming out towards the very last row in the auditorium. 

They filed out of the building no less than 45 minutes later – Emma was certain there were several thousand kids in Henry’s graduating class – and waited in the small park outside the high school for him.   
  
It only took a few moments for him to find them, sprinting across the grass and skidding to a halt, his cap clutched tightly in his hand. 

“Slow down kid,” Emma laughed, putting her hand on Henry’s shoulders. He reached forward quickly and hugged her, nearly knocking her backwards with the force of it. 

She felt Killian’s hand on her back – keeping her upright – and hugged Henry back, muttering  _ congratulations _ at him. 

“You guys were incredibly loud,” Henry said, pulling away from Emma and glancing at the other three of them with a very specific glint in his eye. “Embarrassingly loud.”

“Stop that,” Killian said, nudging his hand into Henry’s arm, a smirk plastered on his face. “You appreciated it and you know it.”   
  
Henry rolled his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like  _ yeah, I did _ . 

“You did great up there Henry,” Mary Margaret said, reaching forward for her own hug, and Henry just laughed again.   
  
“I walked across the stage, Mary Margaret.”  
  
“Yeah,” David agreed, “but you didn’t fall.”  
  
“True,” Henry said and, suddenly, his face got very serious. “Hey, can I say something to you guys?”  
  
“Were we really that embarrassing?” Emma asked, widening her eyes. 

“No, no,” Henry continued, voice picking up speed quickly. “No, that was nice. Super nice. That’s what I mean. You guys have been so nice. That’s a super lame word and it doesn’t really cover it, but, like, that’s what I mean.”  
  
“Where are you going with this kid?”

“Thank you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Thank you,” he repeated. “For the screaming and the yelling and the feature stories and UVA and baseball. Just, well, thank you.”  
  
Emma widened her eyes, shoulders slumping slightly under Killian’s arm. “You don’t have to thank us for that,” Killian said softly. 

“That’s just what Emma does,” Mary Margaret added, smiling at her while she wrapped her hand around David’s. He nodded slowly. 

“It wasn’t just me,” Emma argued. “You’re the one who gave me the story idea, M’s. And you,” she pushed one finger into Killian’s chest, “did all the baseball stuff. And David helped with school.”  
  
“It was all of you,” Henry said, voice soft, but undeniably strong. “You all did it and I wish there was something I could do to thank you.”  
  
“You’re doing it,” Killian said quickly, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“What?”  
  
“You’re doing it,” he repeated. “You graduated and you’re going to UVA and you’re going to make that baseball team and, what did you say, love?” he asked, glancing down at Emma. “Twenty home runs freshman year?”  
  
“At least,” Emma said, smiling.   
  
“At least,” Killian continued, nodding. “And you’re going to do whatever the hell you want because you can. That’s what you’re going to do.”  
  
“And right field for the New York Yankees,” Henry nodded. 

Killian’s breath caught and Emma felt his arm tense around her for a moment, before it dropped away completely and he walked towards Henry, pulling him towards him and hugging him. “If that’s what you want,” Killian said, voice gruff. “Then that’s what you’ll do.”  
  
“Deal,” Henry said as soon as Killian’s arm dropped away from him. 

“Good.”

“So what do we do now?” Henry asked, glancing at the faces in front of him. 

“What do you want to do?” Emma asked. “Shouldn’t you let your foster family know where you are?”  
  
“Nah, they didn’t come.”  
  
“What?” Emma said, voice cracking on the four letters with the force of her very-sudden anger. Henry smiled sadly at her. 

“It’s fine, Emma,” he said. “Really. You guys came.”

Emma sighed, pressing her lips together tightly and nodding forcefully. “Absolutely.”  
  
“I have an idea,” Mary Margaret said suddenly and four heads snapped towards her quickly. 

“What’s up, M’s?” Emma asked. 

Mary Margaret glanced at David and Emma go the distinct impression that they were talking without actually using any words. “M’s?” she prompted. 

David was smiling. 

“What is going on?” Henry asked.

Emma shrugged, but David was practically beaming. “You really want to?” he asked, staring straight at Mary Margaret. 

“Only if you do,” she said, matching his smile with with one of her own.

“Since I was 17.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma muttered and Killian chuckled softly behind her, reaching his hand back around her waist and kissing the top of her head softly. 

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” Henry asked. 

“M’s and David are going to get married,” Emma said simply. 

“Yeah, I figured that’s what the big ring was about.”  
  
“No,” she corrected him quickly. “Today.”  
  
“Today?”  
  
“Do you just carry your marriage certificate with you, M’s?” Emma asked, shaking her head slowly. 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Maybe.”  
  
“Incredible.”  
  
“Prepared,” Mary Margaret amended. “And you’re wearing blue.”  
  
Emma glanced down at her dress, sunlight glinting off the ring on her chain, and smiled. “Prepared,” she said, meeting Mary Margaret’s eyes. 

“I told you it was a good color, love,” Killian said softly, trailing one hand up the side of the dress, and kissing the top of her head again. 

“You want to go to a wedding, kid?” Emma asked Henry. 

He grinned at her and nodded. 

* * *

City Hall was empty.

“Shouldn't there be more people here?” Henry asked as soon as they walked in the doors, voicing Emma’s thoughts immediately. 

“I guess not,” Emma shrugged. 

“Makes it easier for us,” David said, pulling Mary Margaret towards the first open kiosk along the wall. 

They were a small parade up to the woman behind the counter, who eyed them speculatively – Henry was still wearing his graduation gown. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. 

“We’d like to get married,” David answered, lacing his fingers with Mary Margaret’s. “Like right now.”  
  
“Right now?”

David nodded. “Yup.”  
  
“Well, that’s not possible.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“You need an appointment,” the woman said, shrugging slightly and Emma made a face. “Because you’ll have to have a specific city worker do the ceremony.”   
  
“It’s not really a ceremony,” Mary Margaret said quickly, pressing next to David in front of the kiosk. “We just need someone to sign the form.”   
  
“That’s not very romantic,” David muttered. He looked back up at the worker behind the counter and put on his best  _ I’m an NYPD detective, do what I’m telling you _ , face. Emma bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. 

“Listen,” he glanced at the name on the side of the kiosk, “Wendy. We’ve got all our paperwork filled out. We have a marriage license already. We literally just need one person to say ‘man and wife’ and sign the papers. We’d really just like to get married.”   
  
He wrapped his arm around Mary Margaret’s waist for good measure and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Emma rolled her eyes. David was  _ pouring _ on the charm. 

Emma knew the moment it worked – Wendy’s entire face lit up as soon as David kissed Mary Margaret’s cheek sweetly and she sighed softly at the sight in front of her. “I’m sure I can find someone who’s free,” Wendy said quickly. 

“That’s all we’re asking,” David said. 

“I’ll be right back,” Wendy answered, slipping off her swivel chair and all but sprinting into the backroom. 

“Jeez, David,” Emma said sarcastically. “Be even sweeter, please, I don’t think all of my teeth have rotted.”  
  
“Shut up, Emma,” he said, flicking her arm behind his back. 

“How did you even do that?”

“I’m athletic,” David said quickly, keeping his eyes trained ahead, which was good since Emma rolled her eyes so hard it practically hurt. 

Wendy came sprinting back, slightly out of breath, with a smile on her face. “Are you guys free now?”  
  
“We are incredibly free now,” David answered. 

“Well, then I’ve got good news. Lance is on his lunch break, but he said he’d be willing to do the ceremony for you since he’s done eating.”  
  
“Nice to see romance is alive and well in New York City,” Emma muttered. 

“Swan,” Killian said softly and she shook her head. Henry practically cackled. 

“Alright,” Wendy continued. “If you want to follow me around the side here and bring all your paperwork with you, Lance will be right with you in a couple of minutes.”   
  
“Thank you so much, Wendy,” David said, voice  _ dripping _ with charm. “You’ve been so much help.”

Mary Margaret was the one who rolled her eyes this time and their small parade marched around the corner of Wendy’s kiosk, stopping in front of a slightly faded backdrop of the New York City skyline. 

“You really want to do this, babe?” David asked, raising his eyebrows and gripping Mary Margaret’s wrists. 

“You’re asking me that now?” she asked, widening her eyes and shaking her head. She was smiling. 

“Just double checking.”  
  
“We’re getting married, David Nolan,” Mary Margaret said forcefully, pulling her hands away and forcing them flat against his shoulders. “And we’re going to be happy and our parents are going to be furious and we’re going to take ridiculous pictures in front of this disgusting backdrop. It’s going to be perfect.”  
  
David let out a shaky laugh and shook his head slowly. “I love you,” he said simply. 

“I love you too.”  
  
They were kissing when a man – who Emma assumed was Lance – came around the far corner and stared at the scene in front of him. “Aren’t you supposed to wait until after the wedding to kiss each other?” he asked. 

David and Mary Margaret broke away quickly and looked just a bit embarrassed. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that…” David muttered. 

“Lance,” the man said, sticking his hand out. David shook it quickly and smiled.   
  
“Thanks for doing this, Lance,” Mary Margaret said sincerely. 

He waved his hands in front of them dismissively. “It’s my pleasure. Wendy said you had your paperwork all filled out already?”  
  
“Yup,” Mary Margaret answered, handing him the small stack of papers. 

Lance glanced over it, nodding occasionally and putting it on the small table next to him. “Well, that’s all set, so I guess the only thing left is to actually get married, huh?”  
  
“That sounds like a plan,” David said, pulling Mary Margaret against his side. 

“You two the wedding party?” Lance asked, glancing towards Emma and Killian. 

“Oh,” Emma sputtered, caught off guard entirely. “Uh, yeah, I’m Mary Margaret’s maid of honor.”

“And you are?” Lance continued, staring at Killian. 

“My best man,” David said confidently. Emma was certain she was going to fall over. Or her heart was going to explode. Either or. 

Killian gaped at David, wide eyed and visibly terrified. “What?” he croaked out. 

“If you don’t mind,” David said.

“Oh, no, no,” Killian stuttered. “I mean, if you want.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Killian nodded slowly and Emma bit her lip tightly, blinking furiously – but  _ not  _ because she was going to cry. 

Of course not. 

“Well, that’s settled then,” Lance said, entirely unaware of what had just happened in front of him. “Does that make you the ringbearer?” he asked Henry. 

“Do you guys even have rings?” Emma laughed. 

“Um, we could use my engagement ring, right?” Mary Margaret suggested. “And, well, we’ll just get David something later. When it’s a bit more planned.”  
  
“Makes sense.”  
  
“Well, we’ve got paperwork and a wedding party and rings,” Lance listed off. “Time to have a ceremony.”

Emma took a deep breath and all of them spun towards Lance, settling into their designated positions as a small crowd of people formed around them – it was probably everyone in the entire building. 

“We stand here because these two people simply couldn’t stand not being married to each other anymore,” Lance said and Emma wondered if he said  _ people _ because he couldn’t remember David and Mary Margaret’s name. “Because they simply want to be  _ together _ , to have their friends witness their love and their dedication to each other.”

Emma wasn’t crying. 

She wasn’t. 

She might be sobbing, but she wasn’t crying. 

Killian glanced at her and Emma felt his smirk even standing on the other side of David. She smiled at him.    
  
“There’s no point in dragging out vows,” Lance continued. “Not when it’s so obvious how much David and Mary Margaret love each other.”   
Oh. He did remember their names. 

“David,” Lance said, “do you have anything to say to Mary Margaret?”  
  
David’s eyes widened slightly and Emma chewed on her lip – he hadn’t planned on surprise vows. “Oh, sure,” David said, turning slightly to look at Mary Margaret. “I love you. And I want to marry you. And I promise to come home to you every night.”  
  
“Promise?” Mary Margaret asked softly, eyes shining with tear. 

David nodded slowly. “Good,” she said. “And I promise not to worry  _ too _ much. And be supportive. And come home to you every night. Oh, and I love you too.”

Emma let out a low laugh and looked up to see that Killian was still staring at her. She pressed her knuckles against her cheek, wiping away the tears before they got entirely out of control. 

Lance pulled Mary Margaret and David’s hands together, until their fingers were wrapped together and took a deep breath. “By the power vested in me, by the city of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”  
  
David and Mary Margaret moved together quickly and wrapped their arms around each other tightly, kissing forcefully and earning several whoops of encouragement from the crowd around them. 

Emma, Killian and Henry yelled the loudest. 

“You ok, love?” Killian asked, wiping the tears off her cheeks, a small smile on his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” Emma said. And she really was. She was emotionally overwhelmed, but she couldn’t bring herself to be anything but happy for Mary Margaret and David. “I think we’ve got to sign some paperwork.”  
  
Killian nodded and followed Emma towards the table on the side of the skyline backdrop. “So you two just need to sign your names next on the witness lines,” Lance instructed. “Then Mary Margaret and David mail it in and, just like that, you guys just got married.”  
  
“Thank you, Lance,” Mary Margaret said, putting her hand on his forearm. 

“My pleasure,” he answered sincerely. “Here, come on, your $35 fee gives you one family photo in front of the backdrop as well.”  
  
“Perfect.”

The five of them, somehow, fit in front of the fake skyline and Lance stepped behind the camera, leaning forward slightly to stare through the finder. “You’re quite a multi-tasker, aren’t you?” David laughed.   
  
“Oh yeah,” Lance said. “Absolutely. Now, smile.”  
  
The flash went off and Emma hoped none of them blinked, leaning back against Killian’s chest behind her, his hand splayed around the curve of her waist. “Congratulations,” he said, leaning around Emma to look at David and Mary Margaret. 

The two of them barely even noticed he was talking. 

“Hey!” Emma yelled. “Mrs. Nolan.”  
  
“Nuh,” David corrected immediately. “Mrs. Blanchard-Nolan.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head. 

“If she changed it too much, the third graders would get confused,” Henry explained like it as the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That’s exactly right, Henry,” Mary Margaret smiled. “And thank you, Killian.”

“What are you guys going to do now?” Emma asked, suddenly curious if she should find somewhere else to stay tonight.

“What do you want to do babe?” David asked. “We could get a hotel?”  
  
“Yeah?” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide and a small smile on her face.   
  
“I think we deserve a hotel room on our wedding night,” he answered before kissing her forcefully. 

“Ew, gross,” Emma muttered and Henry laughed at her. 

David flicked her arm and shook his head, pulling on Mary Margaret’s hand to lead her out of City Hall. Henry was practically hysterical by the time they got back outside. 

Mary Margaret and David stopped on the bottom step, pushing their foreheads together to stare at his phone screen and try and find a hotel, while Killian, Emma and Henry hung back behind them. 

Killian’s own phone dinged and Emma wondered if he got fewer e-mails now than he did while he was at  _ The Record _ . 

“Hey,” Killian said suddenly. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

Emma snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at his expression – happy and hopeful and maddeningly, annoyingly, attractively nervous. “What?” she asked. 

“I got the job.”

The words sunk into her slowly, inching through every part of her like they were warming every single nerve end in her body. It was like she had just come in after spending hours in the snow and sitting in front of the fire – which was an interesting analogy considering it was the middle of May in New York City. 

“What?” Emma croaked out. 

“I got the job,” he repeated. “At  _ The Writer _ .”

Emma’s breath rushed out of her lungs and she fell forward slightly, landing on his chest. “Really?”  
  
“I wouldn’t lie about that, Swan,” Killian laughed. 

“You’re coming back to New York?” Henry asked. Killian nodded.   
  
“When did this happen?” Emma cut in, hand gripping Killian’s shoulder tightly. 

“Literally just now.”  
  
“Did you even interview?”  
  
“No,” Killian shook his head. “Talked to August a couple of times in the last few weeks, but he told me they wanted to keep their options open. I guess they looked at all the other options and I’m it.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Emma said forcefully and Killian smiled at her, running his hands up and down her bare arms. He linked his right hand with hers, but his left hand found its way – again – back to the ring hanging in front of her dress and smiled. 

“Good luck,” he said softly. 

“When?”  
  
“When what?”  
  
“When are you coming home?”  
  
“E-mail says they want me to start the beginning of June,” Killian said, nodding towards his pocket where his phone was stuffed. 

“That’s two weeks from now.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“That’s so soon.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“You’re going to come back?” Emma asked again. “Really come back? For good?”  
  
“For good, Swan,” he said and Emma felt like it was a promise – a big one.

Emma didn’t wait another moment – she stood up on her tiptoes and threw her arms bodily around his neck, yanking herself up and kissing him with everything she had in her. She pushed her hand into his hair and ran her thumb behind his ear. 

He answered her just as strongly, gripping her waist like she was going to disappear right there on the steps of City Hall. 

Mary Margaret must have said something because Emma heard Henry laugh hysterically and mutter something about  _ Killian got a job _ . They only stopped when Mary Margaret practically screeched a few feet away from them and ran towards them, heels clacking loudly on the stone steps. 

“You alright, M’s?” Emma asked. Killian didn’t let go of her. 

“Are you?!”   
  
Emma nodded and for the first time, in a very long time, she was, completely. “I am.”   
  
“Good,” Mary Margaret said, staring pointedly at Killian. He looked a bit taken aback. “Don’t you dare leave again, understand?”   
  
“Yes, Mrs. Blanchard-Nolan.”   
  
“Exactly.”   
  
Killian didn’t wait for anymore demands, just leaned down and kissed Emma again, tugging on the chain around her neck and mumbling  _ I love you  _ against her lips. 

* * *

It was quiet in the apartment later – hours later, hours jampacked with kisses and  _ makeouts _ and some sort of post-graduation, post-wedding celebratory dinner.

David and Mary Margaret had gotten that hotel room. Emma was certain they told her where. She was also certain she didn’t remember. 

“You’re thinking,” Killian said softly, trailing his finger up her arm. 

Emma rolled her head to the side, cheek pressing up against the pillow and widened her eyes at him. They hadn’t really talked, not yet, and she had a sneaking suspicion they were going to do that just now. 

She would have been more content with making out. 

“That’s not a question,” Emma pointed out, twisting her body when his fingers didn’t stop moving and glaring at him. 

He smirked at her. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he said.

“Then what’s going on exactly?”  
  
“I’m sparking conversation, love.”

“About?”  
  
“Swan,” he said pointedly, narrowing his eyes. “You know exactly what.”  
  
“This is really happening?”  
  
“This talk or me coming home?” Killian asked and the smirk was practically taking over his entire face. Emma shoved her hand against his shoulder and he rolled back dramatically, pulling her along with him. 

“I like that you said home,” Emma whispered, half her body splayed out across his. She wasn’t wearing the dress anymore – hadn’t been for quite some time, not since they walked in the door and realized they were actually  _ alone _ –  and it took about two seconds for Killian’s hand to work its way underneath the Louisville baseball t-shirt she had on. 

“It is,” he answered simply, surging up quickly to kiss her and for a moment Emma forgot  _ entirely _ what they were talking about.

“You’re distracting,” she muttered. He almost looked apologetic. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“They really want me to come write for them,” Killian said softly and Emma suddenly realized what was going on. “Soon.”   
  
He was giving her an out – one final time – and if Emma wasn’t so happy about  _ The Writer _ and the wedding and Henry graduating high school, she probably would have been slightly annoyed that he felt like he still had to do that for her. 

“Hey,” she said sharply, drawing his eyes up to hers. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to double check that it’s alright with me or anything stupid like that. I’ve wanted you to come back from the moment that you left.”   
  
That  _ stupid _ smirk was just ridiculous. 

He ran his hand through her hair, pressing his forehead against Emma’s and she felt him take a deep breath. 

“I wanted to come back the moment I left,” he said. 

“Then come back.”  
  
“Just like that?”  
  
“I don’t see why not.”

“Two weeks,” Killian said. “That’s it.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”

“We can do this.”  
  
Emma pulled back from him slightly, narrowing her eyes with a million and two questions running through her mind. “Do you think we can’t?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I mean at all,” he said quickly, sighing softly and shaking his head. “I meant…”  
  
“What?”

“Emma,” he muttered and her heart did something that vaguely felt like a flip in her chest. “We _can_ do this. This is it.  
  
“It?”

He nodded, pulling her against his chest and kissing down her neck. That wasn’t fair at all, a point she made sure to  _ try _ and make. That proved rather challenging when she could feel his fingers brush along her spine. 

“It,” he muttered again, lips ghosting along her collarbone and Emma did her best not to shiver. It didn’t work. 

“Happy endings and all that?” she asked, voice only shaking slightly. She was proud of that. 

“And  _ all _ of that,” he confirmed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. Guys. Guuuuys. This is it. Well, kind of. There's an epilogue, but this is basically it. I cannot thank all of you for how incredibly fantastic you've been throughout this ridiculously long story. Thank yo so much for every click, comment and kudos – it has meant the actual world to me.


	47. Epilogue

It was a very complicated system. 

Killian stayed with Emma. Mary Margaret stayed with David. Will stayed in Killian’s apartment and tried to find somewhere else to live. 

Because Killian was coming home. 

He started work at  _ The Writer _ on Monday and had – somehow – managed to enlist all of them to haul boxes back into his apartment five blocks away from Emma’s. 

Or what used to be Emma’s. 

Because that’s what it was now – her  _ used to be  _ apartment. 

Mary Margaret and David were taking it back. 

And Emma was moving five blocks away. 

She wasn’t sure where Will was going. She almost didn’t care. The system got far too complicated if she started to worry about that too. 

Emma hauled the box down the hallway, hoping her clothes didn’t fall out before she could actually making into the apartment, kicking at the closed front door without any semblance of grace. 

The door swung open and Aurora laughed at her, Samantha practically clinging to her side. “Aren’t you supposed to be athletic?” she asked. 

“Please,” Emma sighed. “Why do you think I write? I am the opposite of athletic. Where’s Killian, or anyone not holding a baby? I’m going to drop all of my clothes.”  
  
“There are more clothes, Swan?” Killian asked, raising one eyebrow and tilting his head questioningly. “How is that possible?”  
  
Emma groaned and rested the box on her knee. “You going to help or you going to continue to mock?”  
  
“Help, absolutely,” he smiled, walking towards her and hauling the box out of her hands easily. Emma rolled her eyes. 

Samantha made some sort of one-year-old noise and Aurora made a face at her daughter, muttering nonsense that also sounded a bit like  _ yes, they are frustratingly adorable, that’s right _ , before walking away. 

Emma sighed, walking farther into the apartment as Killian dropped the box in the corner of the living room, adding to the small mountain they were accumulating there. “That’s not your room,” she muttered. 

“Genius, love.”  
  
“Are you actually going to unpack?” David asked from his spot on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV with Henry and Phillip next to him. Mary Margaret was _somewhere_ , undoubtedly organizing _something_. “Or are you just going to pile things?”  
  
“You’re the one who hasn’t gotten up since he walked over here,” Emma argued, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter in the kitchen.  
  
“It’s a long walk.” 

“It is literally five blocks.”

David opened his mouth to argue – Emma could hear the sound of the Yankee game in the background – but Mary Margaret walked down the hallway, a small pile of folded towels in her hands. 

“You need to put these somewhere,” she said, handing the pile to Emma with an expectant look on her face. 

“What are these?”  
  
“Towels, Emma,” Mary Margaret said slowly. “Obviously. For the kitchen. They were in a box of clothes.”

“Where have you been?” Emma asked, glancing down the hallway to see that the boxes  _ there _ had all but disappeared. 

“Organizing things.”   
  
“Of course,” Emma sighed. “Let me know next time and I’ll help, ok?”   
  
“You’ve been busy.”   
  
“I’ve been arguing with your husband.”   
  
Mary Margaret smiled at that, twisting the rings on her left hand – they had  _ finally _ gotten actual wedding rings, a few weeks after the spur-of-the-moment wedding ceremony. 

They also had  _ finally _ told their parents, nearly two and a half weeks after the spur-of-the-moment wedding ceremony. And now Mary Margaret was dealing with the totally over-the-top pressure of staging some sort of ceremony in Storybrooke that she very much did not want. 

Although she hadn’t told her father that. 

One obstacle at a time. 

“And what exactly is my husband arguing about?” Mary Margaret asked, eyes flitting towards David who held up his left hand and the ring there, as if that got him off the hook by default. Emma groaned. 

“He’s not being very helpful,” she muttered. “In fact, no one is being very helpful except for you, M’s.”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “You’re freaking out.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“You are,” she argued, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “Don’t. This is a good thing. And far less complicated than the living arrangements we’re dealing with now.”  
  
“Did Will ever figure out where he’s living?” Emma asked distractedly, running her thumb along the chain on her neck, pressing the links into her skin. “I feel like we’re kicking him out.”  
  
“You’re not,” Mary Margaret countered. “He offered. You know Killian said he’d find somewhere else to live.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Emma muttered, pacing before she had even considered what that _looked_ like. “But he wanted to come back here.”  
  
“He wanted to come back to _you_.”  
  
Emma stopped pacing and took a deep breath, looking at Mary Margaret over her shoulder. She was smiling. 

Mary Margaret won and she knew it. 

“I know,” Emma said again, voice just a bit more confident. Mary Margaret stared at her, eyes wide as she watched Emma tug on the chain, the Cardinals emblem on her shirt practically a flashing, neon sign that this was  _ real _ . 

Of course, that was when the baby started to cry and the Yankees hit a home run – making David and Henry cheer and the baby cry  _ more _ – and Will slammed the front door open, two more boxes in his hands. 

And Emma realized this was as real as it got and she felt her pulse stutter slightly at the overwhelming  _ perfection  _ of it. 

“You have a ton of stuff,” Mary Margaret said, either not realizing or ignoring Emma’s self-realization in the middle of Killian’s –  _ her _ – kitchen. 

“We do,” Killian agreed, stepping into the conversation with ease and draping his arm over Emma’s shoulder. “An absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff.”  
  
“You have an enormous apartment,” Emma mumbled, staring at the floor. 

“We have an enormous apartment,” he corrected and her stomach did something. Mary Margaret just laughed and her smile was so goddamn proud that Emma felt a bit like one of her third graders. 

“I’m going to go check on David,” Mary Margaret said suddenly, as if she realized she needed to be anywhere but the kitchen. “And Henry. We might order some food soon, what do you guys think?”  
  
“Sure,” Killian said, not looking at Mary Margaret. He was staring at Emma, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

Mary Margaret walked away, that same proud look on her face, and Emma felt Killian turn next to her, moving so he was standing in front of her, arms pressed up on either side of her while she leaned against the counter. 

“You said _we_ ,” Emma said.   
  
“I did.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And what?”  
  
“We have an enormous apartment,” Emma repeated, making some sort of significant face that she hoped would get her point across. It didn’t. 

Or he was just trying to get her to talk. 

He was definitely just trying to get her to talk. 

“We do, love,” Killian said, laughing. 

“You’re really going to make me do this,” Emma groaned. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Her shoulders sagged dramatically and Emma rolled her entire head, the sarcasm rolling off of her. Killian laughed again, running his hands up her forearms and smirking at her. “Killian,” she whined. 

“Swan.”  
  
His hand moved down, running along the bottom of her t-shirt –  _ his _ t-shirt – where it met the top of her shorts, fingers dancing just along the bottom until he hit skin and Emma bit her lip tightly, trying to make sure her hips didn’t move on instinct. 

“There are half a dozen people in your living room,” Emma mumbled.   
  
“Our living room.”  
  
“That’s going to take some getting used to.”  
  
“I’m willing to wait.”  
  
Emma’s head snapped up quickly and she ignored the ridiculous thing her stomach was doing, kissing him quickly without even considering the half a dozen people and a one-year-old that were sitting in their living room. 

Killian pulled her towards him quickly, palm resting flat on her back – totally under her shirt now – and Emma hands were tugging on the bottom of his hair before she had even realized she had moved. 

“We need to get these people out of here,” Killian said. 

“What?” Emma asked softly. 

“Get. Them. Out.”   
  
“Killian, there are boxes everywhere. And they wanted to order food.”   
  
“Tell them to go out for food.”   
  
“That’s smart,” she said, making a face. “They’ll be out of the apartment then.”   
  
“And hopefully not come back.”   
  
“You’re the one who said they had to help us unpack.”   
  
“Yeah, well, I clearly hadn’t thought that through,” he said, finger tracing along her collarbone slowly. “And, to be fair, I didn’t really plan on you wearing my clothes and impossibly short shorts.”   
  
Emma laughed, a short, loud sound that _ certainly _ caught the attention of the people in their living room. “M’s,” she yelled, not taking her eyes off Killian. “Can you come back here for a second?”  
  
Mary Margaret’s footsteps were soft, but Emma heard her laughing when she saw the small tangle of limbs and twisted t-shirts leaning against the kitchen counter. “You want us out, don’t you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Emma said without preamble. She felt Killian laugh against her and he kissed softly just behind her ear. 

“Like now,” he added. 

“Rude,” Emma muttered and he almost look sorry.

“You are teenagers,” Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. “But, fine, after several hours of organizing your life, I will get all of your friends out of your very large apartment and we’ll get go food, so you can do...whatever.”

Emma smiled. “Thank you, M’s.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”

Mary Margaret was as good as her word, ushering half a dozen people and a one-year-old out of the apartment with ease, moving them out in a single file line that Emma was certain she used regularly in her classroom. 

She shot them a look before closing the door and, suddenly, Emma and Killian were very much alone in  _ their _ apartment. 

“They left,” Emma said, pointing out the obvious and Killian widened his eyes meaningfully. She bit her lip. 

“They did.”  
  
“Rather quickly.”

Killian nodded. “They did,” he repeated. 

“So,” Emma muttered. “What now?”  
  
He smirked at her, wrapping his hands around her hips tightly and pulling Emma back towards him. “What do you want to be doing?” he asked suggestively, eyebrows doing something ridiculous and impossible. 

Emma scoffed. “There are an incredible amount of boxes everywhere,” she pointed out.

“There are. And I absolutely do not care about them at all.”

“Of course you don’t.”  
  
“You know you’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out again, tugging on the fabric. 

“You mentioned that before.”  
  
“It’s incredibly distracting.”  
  
“Something you also mentioned before.”  
  
“Think we might be able to do something about that?” he asked, backing her out of the kitchen and turning her – somehow – towards the hallway. 

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, embarrassingly breathless as he pulled the shirt up. 

“I’ve got some ideas.”  
  
“Ideas that required everyone to leave.”  
  
“Exactly that.”

They stopped several times in the hallway, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake – something else they’d have to pick up and put away, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Not when he was there and staring at her like she was  _ the sun _ or something painfully romantic and moving her towards  _ their _ bedroom in the apartment five blocks away. 

Emma muttered something when Killian’s hand moved towards the top of her shorts and she pushed her body up against his, all but yanking them off her as she pulled him towards the bed that, somehow, had sheets on it. 

Mary Margaret. Of course. 

She tried not to think about Mary Margaret. 

Especially not when Killian did  _ that _ . 

“Jeez,” she mumbled, feeling him laugh against her as he buried his face against her shoulder,  _ nipping _ or something absurd. 

“Relax, Swan,” he said softly, the laughter still obvious in his voice.   
  
“Make me.”  
  
“I’m working on that.” Emma shook her head at that, hand running up his back and into his hair again. “I think you have an obsession with my hair, love,” he said softly, while his hands did something else that nearly made Emma drop her arms back on the mattress.

She sighed softly and her breath stuttered and Killian smirked at her. 

Impossible. 

And attractive. 

And, God, she loved him. 

“I love you,” he said softly, moving his hand back up and lining his body up with hers. “More than anything.”  
  
It was her favorite sentence. 

Emma would have said something back, told him that she loved him too or that she wasn’t scared of their absurdly enormous apartment or the ridiculous number of boxes they still had to unpack. 

She would have told him she was  _ excited _ for the future if she weren’t entirely preoccupied with rolling her hips in rhythm with his and making sure he made  _ that _ noise again. 

He did and, that time, Emma smirked at him. 

* * *

 

“You know, I never asked you something,” Emma said later – she wasn’t sure how much later. She had lost track of time. 

They never made it back to the kitchen or the pile of boxes in the living room. 

She was fairly certain Killian wouldn’t have let her get out of the bed even if she tried. Which she didn’t. 

“What’s that, love?” he asked, letting her hair fall through his fingers.

“I think  _ you’ve _ got an obsession with my hair,” she muttered. 

“Was that what you had to ask?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Then ask,” he pressed, rolling towards her so that he was staring at Emma with wide eyes and a small smile on his face. 

Emma bit her lip, nerves getting the better of her suddenly. Killian didn’t say anything, just waited – like always. 

“Are you happy?” she asked softly. 

Killian let out a loud exhale of breath and laughed, not even trying to disguise his disbelief. “What?” Emma continued. “That’s a legitimate question.”  
  
“It’s a question, sure, Swan, but not a legitimate one. There’s no reason to ask it. At all. Of course I am. Ridiculously.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“Are you?” he asked, hand gripping Emma’s hip tightly. 

“Ridiculously,” Emma repeated.    
  
“Then that’s that.”   
  
“Just like that?”   
  
“Just like that,” Killian agreed. “I wasn’t happy before, Swan. And you’ve fixed that. This is what we talked about.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“That big, vaguely overwhelming future,” he said. “I’m jumping into the deep end of that metaphorical pool. Now. With you. If you’ll let me.”   
  
He looked at her and Emma could see the question  _ behind _ the question. He wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to run away – again. 

Emma understood. 

She wasn’t particularly pleased that she did, but after everything, the running from him and the running to him and the particularly bitter breakup with the entire Boston Red Sox organization – which wasn’t all too pleased to hear that their PR specialist was leaving in the middle of the season for a job with a much lower salary – Emma couldn’t come up with a reason not to jump into the deep end of the metaphorical-future pool. 

With Killian. 

“I’m in,” she said softly. 

“Yeah?”  
  
“All in,” Emma assured him. “I did bring a ridiculous amount of clothing here today.”  
  
“I’m not carrying that five blocks again, Swan.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask you too. And,” she added, “I’m not living with the married versions of Mary Margaret and David. They’re almost too in love. It’s disgusting.”  
  
“Disgusting?” he laughed. “Not romantic?”  
  
“I don’t know that I’m all too partial to romance.”  
  
“No?” Killian asked, raising one eyebrow and pulling her back against him, a move that did _something_ very specific to her pulse. They hadn’t gotten out of bed – their clothes were still in the hallway and she could _feel_ every single inch of him. “You seem to be getting better at the whole romance thing, Swan.”  
  
“It’s a work in progress.”  
  
“One I’m anxious to get underway as soon as possible.”  
  
“That so?” 

Killian nodded emphatically and hummed his approval before kissing Emma again, rolling her slightly so she was laying across his chest. She couldn’t think straight when he did that.   
  
“You’re like my competition now, you know,” Emma said. 

“You’re doing this now, love? You’re going to talk inter-city newspaper competition right now? Without any clothes on in my bed?”  
  
“Our bed,” Emma pointed out and Killian grinned at her. 

“I like how that sounds.”  
  
“Me too.”

“And I don’t see it as competition, Swan,” he said. “For the record.”  
  
“Look who’s talking now!”  
  
“It’s not,” Killian argued. “I’m just continuing your conversation.”  
  
“Alright,” Emma sighed, rolling off him and earning a disgruntled groan in the process. “Explain then. How is it not?”  
  
“I’m not beating you to any sort of scoop. Just finding column ideas. It’s totally different than your beat.”  
  
“Of course it is.”  
  
“It is,” he said strongly. 

“Either way,” Emma muttered, feeling something resembling romance building in the pit of stomach. “I’m glad you’re here. And writing. Even if you’re on the wrong side of the New York City newspaper war.”  
  
“But think, Swan, now I don’t have to wait for you outside with hot chocolate. There’s hot chocolate in the kitchen.”  
  
“You bought hot chocolate already?”  
  
“What do you think I was doing when I left this morning?”  
  
“I couldn’t begin to imagine.”  
  
“Buying you hot chocolate.”  
  
Emma sighed and shook her head, a small smile pulling on her lips. The deep end of the metaphorical future pool was looking pretty good so far. 

And Emma couldn’t quite remember what she had ever been afraid of. 

Not when he was looking her like that, trying desperately to pull her back on top of him. 

“I love you,” Emma said softly, finally answering him. 

“We’re going to be good, Swan,” he promised. “Even on opposite sides of the New York City newspaper war.”

She opened her mouth to answer him, some sort of witty retort that she figured she’d come up with in the moment, but didn’t get a chance. 

Killian kissed her instead and Emma wasn’t going to argue with that. 

She was going to enjoy it. 

They didn’t unpack the boxes that weekend, scrambling on Monday morning to try and find clothes that looked remotely respectable at competing newspapers, but when Emma walked into the kitchen there was hot chocolate in a mug on the counter and Killian was smiling at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was still there. 

“Morning, love,” he said softly, handing her the mug. “You ready?”  
  
Emma nodded. 

She was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It's finished. It's done. Everyone is in love. Everyone is happy and LIVING TOGETHER. I can't thank all of you enough for sticking with me through this monstrosity of a story with just a ridiculous amount of words. It has meant the actual world to me. I know our epilogue wrapped up pretty quickly after the actual story ended, but I've got about half a sequel written...and another full story written...and almost another full story written. I only work and write fic. 
> 
> Anyway, feel free to come flail with me on tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


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